


La Vie en Rose (The Chauffeur's Son)

by barelypink



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: ...But Not for Long, Alexis is a girl boss, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad animal puns, Boating, Coming Out, Cooking, David is a self-destructive idiot, David is a workholic, F/M, Fools in Love, Long Island, M/M, Marcy and Clint work for the Roses, Paris - Freeform, Patrick is a chef, Patrick maybe likes Alexis, Patrick speaks French, Pining, Stevie takes no shit and gets the job done, alternating povs, and cooks, but it's all a bit of a mess so please ignore the POV switching, complicated motivations, lots of food gets eaten, over-reliance on La Vie en Rose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26343133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barelypink/pseuds/barelypink
Summary: Patrick Brewer has been in love with Alexis Rose since he was a kid. The son of the Roses' chauffeur and personal cook, Patrick has returned to the Rose estate, Rosebud Manor, after years of living abroad and may have finally caught the eye of the object of his obsession. That is, until David Rose makes an appearance and changes everything.An AU based onSabrina. No prior experience with the movie necessary to enjoy this fic.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/Alexis Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose
Comments: 412
Kudos: 309





	1. the magic spell you cast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ICMezzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ICMezzo/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this fic for the Reel Prompt Fest based on ICMezzo's prompt, but then life got in the way and I couldn't finish it in time. Writing this was a struggle, but I'm happy to say it's finally complete! I'll be posting two chapters a week until it's fully posted. 
> 
> I grew up watching old movies and _Sabrina_ was always one of my favorites and it holds a very special place in my heart. This fic is based mainly off the 1954 version with Audrey Hepburn (Sabrina/Patrick), Humphrey Bogart (Linus/David), and William Golden (David/Alexis) but the 1995 remake with Harrison Ford, Julia Ormond, and Greg Kinnear is pretty decent as well. Both are worth your time although I’ll always have a decided preference for the 1954 one because, well, Audrey Hepburn. I really did try to write this story to stand on its own, so you really don't need to be familiar with the movie(s) to hopefully enjoy it. 
> 
> This fic would literally not exist without the constant support and cheerleading of vivianblakesunrisebay and I cannot underscore how much this fic owes to her. Thanks to viv and likerealpeopledo for beta'ing, MeadowHarvest for showing me how to do cool text thingys, and High-Seas-Swan for checking over the French sentences when GoogleTranslate failed me. Bon appétit, friends.

_Life is one fool thing after another whereas love is two fool things after each other._

-Oscar Wilde 

**PROLOGUE**

On the North Shore of Long Island, some 30 miles from New York, there was a large estate owned by a family who went by the name of Rose. Their estate—Rosebud Manor—was very grand and required a large staff. There were gardeners to take care of the gardens and a tree surgeon on a retainer. There was a boatman to put the boats in the water in the spring and to scrape their bottoms in the winter. There were specialists to take care of the grounds, the outdoor tennis court and the indoor tennis court, the outdoor swimming pool and the indoor swimming pool. And a man of no particular title who took care of a small fountain in the garden that contained a giant goldfish named Bob.

There were four Roses in all. Johnny Rose, CEO and founder of the Rose Video Entertainment empire, was a dashing gray-haired man of a certain number of years who wore dapper bespoke suits even as leisure wear. He now managed the distribution side of the business though that increasingly seemed to be code for “playing golf.” His wife, Moira Rose, was a former soap star and all-around linguistical force of nature, imperious and ridiculous in equal measure. David Rose, their son, graduated from NYU at 20 and had all but taken over the running of his family’s company by the time he was 25. Under his shrewd eye, he had developed the Interflix platform for at-home streaming when it became clear that video rentals were about to become a relic of the past. The last Rose, Alexis, went through several of the best international boarding schools for short periods of time and through several highly publicized relationships for even shorter periods of time. She had been the star of a short-lived but critically reviewed reality show and had a social media following in the millions.

Also on the estate was a chauffeur by the name of Brewer, who had been imported from Canada years ago along with his family and a classic 1954 Rolls Royce Silver Dawn. Clint Brewer was a fine chauffeur of considerable polish and endless knowledge of the fleet of cars in his care. His wife, Marcy, was generally acknowledged as the best cook on Long Island and was constantly inundated with job offers by those who wanted her for their own kitchens. Knowing they’d never find a replacement for either Brewer in their employ, the Roses paid them handsomely and built them beautifully appointed apartments above the garage where they lived with a curly-haired son named Patrick.

Life was pleasant among the Roses, for this was as close to heaven as one could get on Long Island.

**CHAPTER ONE**

_2010_

Patrick Brewer had grown up in the shadow of the Roses his whole life. He could see their comings and goings to and from their colossal stone-faced mansion from his bedroom window above the garage. He’d helped his father wash every single car the Rose family owned and had learned how to replace spark plugs and brake pads on Land Rovers, Mercedes, and Aston Martins. He’d assisted his mother in the kitchens as she prepared elaborate feasts for large dinner parties or simple, intimate family meals.

He knew Mr. Rose loved baseball and sometimes passed his season tickets to the staff when he couldn’t attend, and that Mrs. Rose spent more time with her wig collection than her own children, and that David Rose loved his mom’s lasagna and requested it for his birthday dinner every year. But Alexis Rose….Patrick had collected every detail about the effortlessly beautiful and breezily charming youngest Rose like an entomologist cataloging an exotic bug collection.

Patrick and Alexis were of a similar age. As kids, they had been allowed to run around together, climbing trees, whacking balls back and forth on one of the tennis courts, and comparing their scabs and bruises on knobbly grass-stained knees. But by the time they were 12 or 13, Alexis found herself caught up more and more into the limelight and a life where Patrick was not invited. By 15, Patrick hardly ever saw Alexis Rose in the flesh anymore except on the increasingly rare holidays and summer breaks that she spent at home. 

And yet somehow, without meaning to, Patrick had made Alexis Rose the standard by which he judged all other girls. No one had hair quite like hers, he told himself, or eyes quite so blue or a smile quite so pretty, and that is why he was never quite as attracted to other girls. None of them laughed like her or moved their hands in the same distinctive, almost animal-like way and that is why he didn’t feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach when he took other girls on dates or kissed them good-night.

It wasn’t like Patrick was some starry-eyed fool reaching for the moon. Patrick knew the reality of the situation. A girl like Alexis, who could have any man she wanted, wouldn’t look twice at the son of a lowly chauffeur and cook. But that didn’t stop Patrick from hoping that someday Alexis might glance in the general direction of the garage and notice him again.

***

It was the evening of the Roses’ anniversary and, as had been tradition on Long Island for the past 30 years, the Roses were throwing a party. It never rained on the night of the Rose family party. The Roses wouldn't have stood for it.

Patrick had spent the morning helping his mother with the _mise en place_ in the kitchen but was now watching the lavish party from the same tree that he and Alexis had once climbed together as kids. He strained to catch a glimpse of Alexis among the crush of people. He didn’t know the next time he’d get to see any of the Roses, especially Alexis, and he hoped that he might run into her one last time before he left. Tomorrow he would be boarding a plane for Paris, economy class, to begin his culinary arts degree at Le Cordon Bleu. 

From his perch in the tree, Patrick could see the Roses’ excitable butler, Ray, delivering drinks to partygoers on an honest-to-god silver platter and Jocelyn, Mrs. Rose’s social secretary, whispering the names of the guests into Moira’s right ear before she greeted each new person. He could see David Rose impeccably dressed in something fashionable and monochromatic, hair swooped back and brows heavy as he flitted between various groups of businessmen and entertainment executives. Patrick found the oldest Rose sibling to be both intimidating and aloof, a workaholic who rarely seemed to relax. Patrick tried to steer clear of David; he always found himself rather unsettled in David’s presence. It was just as well that David had spent little time at Rosebud Manor in the last few years now that he had his own apartment in the city.

Music from a string quartet wavered through the air and sparkling white lights twinkled under the clear June night sky. Guests spilled out the wide French doors of the house onto an outdoor dance floor. And there, amid the twirling sea of elegantly moving bodies was Alexis Rose, hair curling around her bare shoulders, wearing a shimmering pink dress. Her partner was someone who looked vaguely familiar to Patrick, probably some C list actor or up and coming talent David had recently discovered for the studio’s original content. Alexis tilted her head back and laughed her flirtatious laugh, exposing the long and beautiful line of her neck. Patrick gripped the tree branch tighter.

“Patrick,” a voice called from below him. "Son, please come down.”

Clint Brewer was at the base of the trunk, looking up at Patrick with a faintly bemused expression, wiping his hands with his ever present blue mechanic’s towel. Patrick had never figured out how his father maintained such a neat and tidy appearance at all times when he spent so much time sliding underneath the dirty undercarriages of expensive cars. Patrick always came out with oil and dirt all over his face and hands and clothes.

“Spying on the Roses’ party again? I thought you’d given up on that years ago.” Clint chuckled softly to himself.

Patrick tumbled inelegantly out of the tree. At 19, his body was still compact, but he was heavier and more awkward climbing down than the nimble 12-year-old who used to swing from branch to branch. Alexis had always been far more graceful and daring than him anyway. 

“Shouldn’t you be packing?” Clint asked, tucking the rag into his back pocket and staring at his son expectantly. 

“Who’s that dancing with Alexis?” The words were out before Patrick could stop himself from asking. His father wasn’t much for pop culture and entertainment, but he remembered the name and face of every person who sat in the backseat of his car. An occupational imperative, he always said. 

“Armie Hammer. Like the baking soda. Tragic, really, that name. His first big movie comes out soon. David seems to think he’s going to be a big star.” Clint patted Patrick’s arm knowingly and then cleared his throat. “I’m going to miss you terribly, son, but it’s good you’re going away. At least for a little bit. Maybe it will help you discover that there are other people in this world who you could….”

“Who I could what, Dad?” Patrick said. He meant to say it insolently, but he’d never really learned how to be a properly angsty teenager. 

“I just want you to be happy, Patrick. I don’t know that you’re going to find that here.”

“Do you mean here in New York or here with Alexis?”

Patrick and Clint both watched as Alexis leaned in close as her dancing partner whispered in her ear. It was very clear from the trajectory of his hand on her backside and the irritatingly sweet flush of her cheeks what he was currently proposing to her.

Clint coughed uncomfortably. “I think it’s time you got over your adolescent crush. At least don’t put your life on hold until she finally remembers you exist.”

Patrick looked at the ground, kicking at one of the tree’s exposed roots. “That’s a little harsh, Dad.”

A grimace flickered across Clint's face and he tried to soften it into an understanding smile. “The truth hurts sometimes. Go finish packing, Patrick. Your mom’s working late tonight and she’s not going to do it for you.”

“Just one more minute, Dad. I’ll come up soon. I promise.”

Clint nodded his head, seeing something in the obstinate set of Patrick’s shoulders to convince him to leave his son in peace. He gave Patrick’s shoulder a tight squeeze and then disappeared into the side door of the garage.

Patrick looked back at the party, but Alexis and her date were gone. He had missed his last chance to memorize her face before he left and disappointment settled heavily in the pit of his stomach. He was about to turn around when the bushes separating the garage from the main house rustled. Patrick stayed silent and still as he heard tittering voices coming nearer and nearer to the spot where he was now rooted.

And then there was Alexis, tipsily hanging onto the arm of a man Patrick could now see was blindingly beautiful in that chiseled leading man way that Patrick would never be. Mr. Baking Soda was looking at Alexis like he wanted to chew her down to the bones. Patrick had never wanted to punch someone in the face more. Not that he could probably reach his jaw if he tried. He was also exceptionally tall, the bastard. 

Alexis stopped mid-stride with a startled ‘ah!’ when she saw Patrick standing under the tree. “Oh, it’s you, Patrick,” she said with a relieved laugh, hand clutched at her chest. 

“Hi, Alexis,” Patrick managed to say.

“We thought we heard somebody.” Her eyes slid off Patrick’s face and lifted back up to the man’s with a suggestive smirk. Without another word or backward glance, Alexis and the actor were gone, headed toward the unoccupied solarium. 

Patrick watched the pathway until he couldn’t see Alexis and the actor anymore. He knew he needed to pack, knew he needed to sleep before his flight, knew he needed to not think about what might be happening in the darkened solarium right now, but he was glued to the spot. He was still standing there some minutes later when a clearly disgruntled David Rose came striding through the same bushes as his sister, swatting away a vulgar branch that had dared to touch his jacket. 

He stopped short when he saw Patrick. “Oh. Um, hello. It’s Patrick, right?” 

Where Alexis was light and breezy, David was dark and moody, but they were still clearly siblings They were also both clearly beautiful. Those Roses had good genes.

Patrick was more startled by the fact that David knew his name. He hadn’t realized that David even knew who he was except in theory; they’d never really talked before. He was just the son of the help, after all, even if he and Alexis had once been friends. 

He felt David’s eyes take in his unruly mop of curls (he really had meant to get a haircut before going but, well, things happen) and his jeans were starting to fade and tear at the knee, and his button down shirt was too big and hung off his shoulders loosely. He felt a bit like a slob under David’s laser glare. He straightened up, trying to match David’s ramrod straight posture. 

“Hello, Mr. Rose,” Patrick finally choked out. 

“Ew. Mr. Rose is my dad. Call me David.” David said as he tried to peer through the darkness in the direction of the gardens. “I think I know the answer to this, but did you see my infuriating sister pass by here recently?”

“She might have,” Patrick admitted reluctantly. He hated the thought of getting Alexis in trouble, even if he selfishly wanted her rendezvous with the actor to be cut short. 

“Ugh, I’m going to kill her but make it look like an accident.” David met Patrick’s eyes and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Patrick. “You never heard me say that.” 

“How could they question me? I’ll be on foreign soil by tomorrow.” _Was he making a joke to David Rose?_

David’s eyes lit up in amusement. “An excellent quality in a witness.” 

Patrick shoved his hands into the pockets of his too-big pants. “Happy to help.” 

“Where are you going?”

“Uh...Paris, for school. Culinary school, actually.” 

“Right,” David said. “My dad mentioned that. He likes your parents...a lot. We don’t historically like many people.” 

Patrick let out a short burst of embarrassed laughter. “Well, then, thanks, I guess?” 

David seemed to be over the conversion now. “So. Did Alexis go to the solarium or the indoor tennis courts this time?”

Patrick pointed toward the gardens with one finger. David nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “Thanks. And good luck in France.” David took off toward the solarium with a flash of a genuine smile in Patrick’s direction. 

Patrick’s stomach somersaulted just a little at the sight. He hadn’t realized that David’s smile was so remarkably similar to Alexis’. Patrick couldn’t help feeling a tad bemused by his random encounters with both Rose siblings tonight. But at least he'd gotten what he'd wanted, and seen Alexis up close one last time even if the circumstances were less than ideal. He shrugged his shoulders at nothing and then climbed up the stairs to his bedroom to finally pack his suitcases for the start of the rest of his life. 

***

No one was more shocked than Patrick that he had decided to follow his mother’s footsteps and become a chef. His parents may have been a chauffeur and a cook, but they were intelligent, striving people who had pushed Patrick to work hard in school. The plan had always been that he would get into a top school and become something practical and prosperous and respectable like an accountant or lawyer. It’s why they had come to New York. It’s why they had come to work for the Roses. 

Culinary school had never been on the radar. But like his parents, Patrick was intelligent and hardworking and he strove his way right into one of the top culinary programs in the world. When Mr. Rose learned about it, he had offered to pay for Patrick to attend, no strings attached, and Mrs. Rose had insisted on finding suitable accommodations for Patrick on one of her annual trips to Paris. In the end, Patrick found himself living in a small studio apartment in the attic addition of a historic apartment building in the 15th arrondissement. He found out later the Roses had purchased the entire building and were now making a tidy profit on their investment. 

His apartment’s kitchen was basically a sink, a hot plate, and a mini-fridge and the toilet was wedged next to a tiny washing machine that resembled a medieval cheese grater more than a modern appliance. The finicky water heater allowed him no more than 20 minutes of hot water per day. But there was also a small balcony from which he could see the Eiffel Tower and, on a clear day, the Sacre-Coer perched on its majestic hillside in Montmartre, so Patrick never found one reason to complain.

Paris turned out to be exactly like Patrick had imagined and at the same time completely beyond his wildest expectations. Sometimes the streets of Paris looked just like New York, which made him breathless with homesickness. But then he’d turn a corner and see the Arc de Triomphe or Notre Dame or pass some quaint, picturesque bistro where philosophers had once argued their ideas over wine and cheese and he’d marvel at the world he now lived in. It made him feel like maybe he belonged here and not the place he had come from. It made him want to discover who he really was, apart from all the people he had once known. 

So Patrick constructed a box in his mind that he labeled ‘Alexis Rose’ where he filed his childhood crush away and he carried his chef’s knives through the streets of Paris like he was marching into battle to slay the dragons of his past.

***

It didn’t always work, the not thinking about Alexis. The problem was that Alexis was an internationally known adventure-seeking socialite who pinged on more than one gossip or celebrity news site and Patrick may have tried to move on but he also never turned off his Google Alerts for her name. So he heard about her near escapes from sultans’ palaces or David Geffen’s yacht or her short-lived relationship with one of the Hemsworth brothers and he tried not to take out his frustrations on the carrots he was slicing or the fish he was filleting that day.

They were nearing the end of their three-week course on soufflés. Patrick didn’t even know why they still spent so much time on soufflés anymore—it was the 21st century and who still really wanted to eat them?—but it was a required part of the curriculum at Le Cordon Bleu. He was meant to be preparing a savoury soufflé while his prep station partner was baking a dessert one. But Patrick was a little distracted by the latest news that Alexis had disappeared somewhere off the coast of Vietnam and had not been heard from in over three days.

“Mesdames et messieurs, soon we will see how well you have learned the lesson of the soufflé,” the instructor pronounced to the room. Patrick had nearly burst out laughing the first time he met Mr. Fournier who could not look more like the stereotypical Frenchman with his whisper-thin mustache and jaunty chef’s hat. “Prepare to remove your soufflés in _dix_!”

Mr. Fournier counted down the seconds until a bell dinged and the students diligently armed themselves with oven mitts and swung their oven doors open. Patrick knew as soon as he touched the pan that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Mr. Fournier marched down the stainless steel prep tables smelling and tasting and judging the soufflés of Patrick’s classmates with his standard mixture of French and English.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Taylor, you have achieved perfection yet again. So light, so delicate. The perfect height. Not too high or too low.”

He moved to Patrick, face still beaming from the splendors of his partner’s success. But his face immediately fell and his lip curled up in disgust when he saw Patrick’s soufflé.

“Mr. Brewer, perhaps next time you would be so kind as to prepare something edible. This is a disgrace.”

And he moved on, nose straight in the air like he was morally offended.

Patrick’s shoulders slumped and he heard a lilting, infectious laugh behind him. His partner, Rachel.

“Oh, Mr. Brewer,” she giggled, affecting a French accent even though she was, like Patrick, one of the half dozen native English speakers in the class. “Perhaps next time you would be so kind as to turn on ze oven.” 

“What?” Patrick swiveled around and looked at his oven with open-faced suspicion like it had betrayed him. “I forgot to turn on the oven?”

“Oui.” But Rachel nodded like she found it insufferably charming nonetheless.

“Why didn’t you say anything!”

“I only just realized it. Why didn’t you ever notice?”

“I guess I’ve just been distracted,” Patrick mumbled, heading toward the trash to dump out the miserable contents of his soufflé pan.

“Hey. Want to go grab a drink together?” Rachel smiled at him kindly and Patrick noticed, not for the first time, that Rachel was really quite pretty, the small features of her face carved delicately onto blushed skin. Her nose and cheeks were dotted with faint freckles and her red hair gave her the look of someone equal parts ethereal and feisty. She was so different than Alexis, Patrick thought wistfully, but maybe that was the point. Maybe that was exactly the point.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and noticed that his mother had texted him an hour ago, before the souffle disaster had even started.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190093628@N07/50315761928/in/photostream/)

He exhaled slowly and looked up at Rachel’s expectant face.

“You know what, Rachel? I’d love to.”

***

If Alexis Rose had never existed, Rachel would be exactly Patrick’s type. At least, he was pretty sure. It made sense. 

She was smart and funny but never played games. She could drink him under the table but never gloated about it. Patrick was faster with a knife, but she was better at building richer flavor profiles and they learned a lot from each other. They ate out at every type of restaurant and picked apart the food together and debated wine pairings and gave each other sloppy kisses while walking down the Rue Linois on their way to class just like the French did. And it was easy and comfortable with her like he’d never known it could be but he never felt ridiculous or passionate love for her, so he figured he never did get over Alexis Rose, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about time and setting: For the purposes of this fic, I have Patrick and Alexis as being the same age and David is roughly five years older than them. The fic starts in 2010 when both Alexis and Patrick are roughly 20 years old and David is 25. The majority, however, takes place in 2015 when they are 25 and 30 respectively. I know this is slightly inaccurate but it’s Schitt’s Creek and timelines don’t matter.


	2. a world where roses bloom

_2015_

David could hear Alexis calling his name from the manor’s second floor balustrade, so he picked up his pace. He had things to do which meant he had a sister to avoid. 

David could just make out an, “Ugh! Where are you, you dirty skunk!” before he quietly shut the door behind himself and double-timed it toward the garage. Clint would already have his car out and ready to go. Clint Brewer was always dependable like that. 

“Day-vid! There you are!”

David turned at the sound of Alexis’ voice, his face already painted with a wince of annoyance. It was just the face his features naturally twisted themselves into in the presence of his sister. Alexis was running toward him with tiny, careful steps like a wounded rabbit hip-hopping its way on five-inch heels. She would have moved faster if she’d just walked, he thought.

“What now Alexis?” David huffed impatiently. “I’m running late already!” 

Alexis paused in front of David when she finally caught up to him, a hand flinging the highlighted strands of her hair over her shoulder with a flourish. She never could do anything subtly.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” she asked haughtily. 

“Uh, to the office,” David snarked back.

Alexis’ brow furrowed. “On a Saturday?”

David rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Today is Wednesday, Alexis.”

“Really? Are you sure?” 

David groaned again. “What do you need, Alexis? Unlike some people, I have a very important job to get to.”

Alexis sighed dramatically and thrust her phone into David’s hand. “Do you want to explain _that_ to me.”

“Googling yourself again, I see. Really, Alexis, could you be more self-involved?”

David made to hand the phone back, but Alexis stopped him and clicked on the top link of a gossip website and shoved it back into his hand with an emphatically rude hand gesture.

“Don’t even pretend like you don’t obsessively check every news outlet for any mention of one of us. I know you care more than anyone about the Rose family name. Which includes me. So I know you had something to do with this upsetting piece of gossip or you would have had it scrubbed half an hour ago.”

David didn’t argue back. He wanted to; he always wanted to argue with Alexis. It was just the way they communicated, through barbs and name calling and pithy comebacks. They’d never learned the vocabulary of kindness despite their mother’s voluminous lexicon.

Instead, David looked at the _US Weekly_ article Alexis had opened. The story read: “Are entertainment heiress Alexis Rose and Dr. Ted making puppy eyes at one another?”

David grimaced at the bad headline, but forced a smile onto his face before sliding Alexis’ phone into her open Chloé handbag.

“I guess congratulations are in order then.”

“Ew, David. You know I’ve never even met this Ted guy. I don’t date C-list celebrities, and I certainly wouldn’t be caught dead with a reality star.”

“ _You_ were on a reality show, Alexis. Besides, Ted is a legitimate doctor. This is a step up for you.”

“Yeah, a doctor for rodents. That’s, like, totally not a cute look for me.” Alexis’ hands were flapping wildly about. David took a step back; he didn’t want to risk being hit. 

“No,” David said. “He’s just a regular veterinarian and all-around animal enthusiast. He’s actually a pretty decent guy once you get over the disappointment that that whole bunny cam strip tease that made him famous was actually an accident.”

 _The World Wild Web with Dr. Ted_ was—to the surprise of everyone including David—currently Interflix’s most popular original program. David had pursued Ted relentlessly, thinking he’d get a stupid hot vet who took off his shirt and titillated an adult audience with dirty animal facts. Instead, Ted had created a feel-good, wholesome family show that demonstrated care and respect to every creature, no matter how great or small. Ted had become the next generation Steve Irwin; hotter and with bad puns. He still didn’t take his shirt off enough for David’s preferences, but David couldn’t complain about the results. And he needed to keep him happy. David knew there were other entertainment companies—and at least one major network channel—that wanted Ted Mullens on their roster. He couldn’t afford to lose him.

Hence Alexis.

Ted had let slip in more than one meeting with David that he found the younger Rose sibling to be quite pretty and had hoped to meet her. And what better way to ensure Ted’s loyalty to the Rose Video empire than by setting him up with Alexis Rose herself.

The same Alexis Rose that was now glaring at David with an irritated expression. David swallowed uncomfortably before throwing up a hand in resignation. 

"What do you want me to do, Alexis?" he said with one arched eyebrow. 

“I am not dating a vermin doctor for you, David. When you need me to date Zac Efron, then we’ll talk.”

***

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190093628@N07/50325429177/in/dateposted/)

Patrick rolled his eyes at his father's text message but he wasn't upset about it. Their lives had always revolved around the Roses' whims. He hadn't lost the rhythm of it despite his years away.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190093628@N07/50325429167/in/photostream/)

Patrick chuckled to himself both because he knew his father's very ungenerous opinion about Uber and their wannabe chauffeurs with "no respect for the dignity of the profession" and his overinflated belief in his ability to get across the East River in anything less than an hour at this time of day. He’d already taken the train from JFK airport to the Glen Cove station and he was less than three miles away from Rosebud Manor. He would have just walked if he didn’t have luggage with him. Patrick had been amazed at how easy it was to condense five years of his life into just two suitcases. 

It had only taken him three years to get his culinary arts degree and then he had miraculously landed a job at a Michelin starred restaurant in the 8th arrondissement. He and Rachel had broken up over a year ago. She had gotten a sous chef position at a contemporary French restaurant in Montreal, but Patrick hadn't loved her enough to move to Canada with her and that had been it. 

Patrick had loved his extra years in Paris, but New York was still his home. He knew that if he stayed in Paris, he’d always be a sous chef under some famous French master because the French would never truly respect an American chef. (He tried to play up his Canadian roots, but that didn’t seem to help him much either.) And Patrick was ambitious. He wanted to be the one in charge: of the kitchens, the front end, the menu, the whole experience. His dreams were big and only a city like New York was big enough to contain it. It’s where all young chefs wanted to come and make it big with a successful restaurant. And Patrick knew he had as good a shot as any of them; better even because he’d grown up there.

He’d been waiting over 20 minutes now and Patrick wondered if he should call his father just to see how far along the Midtown Tunnel he’d gotten when a blonde woman in a shimmering blue BMW convertible screeched to a halt beside him. Her hair was flying all about her head like Medusa’s snakes and her face was half covered by gold-tinted sunglasses but Patrick would have recognized her anywhere.

“Alexis!”

“Well, hello neighbor! Long time, no see!” she said in a giggly voice, slightly scratchy from the open air. “Need a lift?”

“That would be amazing.” Patrick was already hauling his suitcases to the back of Alexis’ car as he answered. “My dad was supposed to pick me up 20 minutes ago, but he got stuck in traffic.”

“Well, I’m here to rescue you then!” she called as if nothing would have delighted her more. Patrick sank into the passenger seat of her car and she pulled smoothly out into the road with barely a backward glance, deftly turning with one hand while the other fiddled with the rearview mirror to get a better look at her wild hair.

It felt like a sign. Two hours back in America and here was Alexis. It was like no years had passed since he’d been a young schoolboy sick in love with the most popular girl in school (not that they’d ever gone to the same schools). It was like the years and oceans he’d put between them, the years he’d spent breaking up and getting back together with Rachel had never happened. His heart seemed to remember the way it used to beat an irregular pattern whenever Alexis was near. It thumped so loudly in his chest that Patrick was sure Alexis could hear it over the soft purr of her V8 engine.

Remembering his poor father probably stuck somewhere under the East River right now, Patrick pulled out his phone and sent a brief text letting him know that he’d gotten a ride from a friendly face and would see him at home.

“So did you just come back from a trip?” Alexis asked breezily as she cut off a slow moving minivan on the two-lane road. Patrick gripped the side of the door but tried not to let any of the tension show on his face.

“Yeah. I was in Paris.”

“Oh, I love Paris! I once nearly got arrested at a speakeasy in Montmartre with Audrey Tautou. Did you have a good time?”

“Yes,” Patrick said with a laugh. “I loved it there. You do know that I’ve been living there for the last five years though, right?”

“What?” Alexis turned to look at Patrick full in the face and he was sure they were going to crash and die right there on Desoris Lane. “What were you doing in Paris for five years?”

“College. I got my culinary arts degree at Le Cordon Bleu.” Patrick resisted the urge to follow it up with, _just the best cooking school in the world._ That seemed like bragging. Alexis made him want to brag. 

Alexis pulled the car into the long private drive that led to the Roses’ estate. Patrick had always loved the lush green trees that crowded the lane so that when the massive house came into view, it was always something of a surprise. He knew to expect it, but his breath still caught in his throat when he saw the venerable stone facade of Rosebud Manor as they drove through the gateway toward the garage.

Alexis slammed on her brakes with a squeal and tugged the gear shaft into park. She turned to look at Patrick now, taking off the sunglasses that had hidden her face and merely reflected Patrick back at himself. Alexis had not changed in five years. If anything, she’d gotten more beautiful, a little softer and less angular around the edges. More comfortable in her skin and confident in her ability to take what she wanted.

Her mouth quirked up in the corner, just the start of a radiant smile that formed as she took in Patrick’s whole presence from his neat haircut to his crisp button-down and fitted jeans. 

“I have to say,” she finally said, “those years in Paris were good to you. You are an absolute button!”

“Thanks, I think?” Patrick said but he felt the compliment—whatever it meant—all the way down to his toes.

Alexis reapplied her lipstick in her mirror before seeming to realize something. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

“Um...nothing. Unpacking probably.”

“Well, tonight is my parents’ anniversary party. You should come. Be my little date-y.” Alexis touched Patrick’s arm with light and enticing fingers. 

“Really? You want me to come with you tonight? Aren’t you dating that animal guy?” Patrick realized he still had a death grip on the side of the door. But he didn’t trust himself to stay upright if he let go, especially with the gentle press of Alexis’ fingers burning into his skin.

“Ugh, no. I’m not. Okay, well, David wants me to date him as, like, a publicity stunt or something but no. I’m very much unattached. I want you to come, Patrick. We have so much to catch up on. And I bet you look really great in a suit. You have a suit, right?”

“Of course I own a suit,” Patrick said with a laugh. “And I wouldn’t miss a Rose family party for the world.”

Alexis winked at him, or Patrick thought she intended it to be a wink but it was more like an owlish double blink.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” She leaned over and booped him on the nose.

“Alexis, what the hell are you doing? You were supposed to be here three hours ago.” Patrick looked over the back of the convertible and saw David Rose, hands on his hips, a look of exasperated annoyance written all over his features, dressed head to toe in layers of expensive black clothes. Another Rose that had not changed at all.

She groaned before opening her car door. “I was just giving Patrick a ride home.” Alexis extracted herself out of the car with the grace of a fine-boned gazelle. “Did you know he’s been living in Paris for the last five years?” She said it almost conspiratorially, like she didn’t want Patrick to know she was spilling a secret confession.

“Of course I knew that,” David replied testily. “We paid for him to go to school there.” His eyes flicked over to Patrick, who had regained enough feeling in his extremities to get out of the car and begin to unload the trunk while pretending he hadn’t overheard any of their conversation. David cleared his throat. “Welcome back, Patrick.”

Patrick was extraordinarily grateful to the Roses for helping him pay for his school, but he didn’t really want to discuss it with David and Alexis, not when it might blatantly remind them of his “son of the help” status. Patrick finally looked up at the Rose siblings as he clicked the trunk into place. “Er...thanks for the ride.” He lifted up the handles of his rolling suitcases and shouldered his carry-on bag into place. “I’ll see you tonight then, Alexis.”

“Ab-so-lutely,” Alexis said with a punctuated shoulder shimmy between each syllable. She fluttered her fingers at Patrick’s pink cheeks as he moved toward the garage and his parents’ apartment.

***

David waited until the chauffeur’s son was out of sight before he spoke.

“No.”

Alexis straightened her spine and leveled an icy stare at her brother.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” she challenged.

“Whatever that was—” David said, waving his hand in the general direction of the garage, “—is a real quick no.”

“But I haven’t seen Patrick in years, David! And look how cute he is now!” Alexis didn’t stamp her foot like a bratty teenager, but she might as well have. 

“The last time you thought one of the help’s children was ‘cute’, it cost the family quarter of a million dollars.”

“OK, but the thing with Mutt was—”

“No, Alexis. No buts! The only person you need to think is cute tonight is Ted Mullens.”

“The ventriloquist?” Alexis groaned. She wrapped her hair around her fingers in distress.

“He’s a veterinarian. And I guarantee that you have not thought about Patrick Brewer once in the five years he has been gone. You can go another four hours without thinking about him.”

Alexis did stamp her foot then. “I don’t have to do anything you say. It’s my life.”

“I pay for your life, Alexis, so...you kinda do.” David lifted one threatening eyebrow and strode away.

***

No one was in the Brewers’ apartments when Patrick finally managed to lug his suitcases up the stairs and into his old room, not even bothering to look around or reminisce about his adolescence. He grabbed a bottle of wine from his carry-on bag and took off toward the manor kitchen where he knew his mother would be hard at work. And sure enough, she was there chopping away at some onions and celery.

“Patrick!” she dropped the knife as soon as she saw him and Patrick found himself swallowed up into her arms immediately. She might have been much shorter than him, but Marcy Brewer had a strong grip.

“I brought you some of the best pinot noir from Burgundy, mom,” Patrick said as soon as he was able to extract himself from his mother’s arms. “Your beef bourguignon will never taste better.”

“Oh thank you, sweetheart.”

The word got out quickly that Patrick was back and suddenly the kitchen was swarming full of people and faces Patrick hadn’t seen in years. There was Jocelyn, Mrs. Roses’ personal assistant and the true organizing force behind Moira’s celebratory success, and her husband Roland, who occasionally deigned to do the work of head gardener. There was Ronnie, the general handyman and maintenance woman who kept everything in the house and grounds running and working smoothly (and who held a longstanding grudge against Patrick ever since he had played a prank on her as a bored 14-year-old) and Ray, who held the title of butler but who adopted new hobbies with reckless abandon and then tried to monetize them with unfounded zeal.

Patrick hadn’t realized how much he’d missed them all until he saw them again. He was hugging all of them when Clint finally burst into the kitchen and shooed them all away in order to wrap Patrick in a tight embrace.

“You couldn’t wait just a little longer, eh?” Clint said with another squeeze of Patrick’s shoulders. 

“Sorry, dad. I, uh...I actually ran into Alexis at the station. She gave me a ride home.”

His parents exchanged surprised, panicked looks.

“Well, that sounds nice,” his mother said, carefully hedging around what she really wanted to say.

“She invited me to the party tonight. You know, as a welcome home.” Patrick couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Clint asked delicately.

“Yes,” Marcy followed. “You’ll probably be dreadfully jetlagged tonight. Best go to bed early.”

“Are you joking?” Patrick laughed. “I couldn’t possibly sleep tonight. I’ve got to go get ready. It’s so good to be home!”

And just like that, he was gone. He barely heard his parents’ twin sighs of resignation. 

***

Alexis looked gorgeous. Alexis looked beautiful even in sweatpants and a messy bun, but David had to admit the combination of Alexis in a sweeping black gown under the wide June sky and the twinkling lights of the outdoor dance floor was a stunning sight. He never struggled to understand why Alexis was such a tantalizing catch for almost every man of their acquaintance, but he also couldn’t help wishing she were a little less dazzling so he didn’t have to rescue her from every idiot who promised her a good time. It was exhausting being her brother and he had enough on his plate what with running a multi-million dollar company almost entirely on his own.

His parents’ anniversary, like every party thrown at the Rose estate for the last ten years, was an opportunity to network and strengthen business ties. David couldn’t remember the last time he had actually enjoyed himself at one of these things. David plucked a champagne flute off a passing tray and watched Alexis crane her head in the most unswanlike way, peering through the trees that bordered the walkway to the garage. 

The trees parted, as if by magic, and there was Patrick Brewer, handsome as the devil in a fitted black suit. It was a utilitarian suit, probably the only one he owned, but it was still a fashionable cut and impeccably tailored to show off Patrick’s broad shoulders, long torso, and powerful thighs. The tie was jet black but even from this distance, David could tell it was quality French silk. Patrick had obviously picked up more than a culinary arts degree in Paris.

David had always liked the Brewers. They were hard workers and impeccable in their execution of their jobs unlike some other members of their staff. If his mother didn’t bemoan that she would “be simply adrift in the River Styx without Jocelyn,” Johnny would have fired Roland Schitt years ago, especially after that whole debacle between Alexis and Mutt Schitt two years back. He definitely didn’t want Alexis to get involved with another relative of their household staff, especially when he suspected Patrick was as sincere and open-hearted as his guileless face suggested.

“Looking for something, Alexis?” David asked in his most accusatory voice as he sidled up next to her.

“Choke on some caviar,” she hissed under her breath, not even glancing in David’s way, waving to Patrick across the dance floor. 

David cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I still need you to spend some time with Ted tonight, Alexis.”

“Ew, David. I told you I’m not doing that,” she said, still not looking at him. “Now go away.”

David watched Patrick approach Alexis with that hopeful, earnest face of his and he watched Alexis throw back her head and laugh at something he said. The blazing grin that took over Patrick’s face caused something to twist in David’s stomach as the pair moved toward the dance floor together.

“Who is that bewitching young buck confabulating with Alexis?” 

Moira Rose was decked out in a black and white Alexander McQueen gown with golf-ball size pearls roped around her neck and a platinum blonde wig. She was ridiculous. She was fabulous. And she never missed a thing. 

David exhaled slowly. “Patrick Brewer. Just returned home from Paris.” 

“Marcy and Clint’s little boy?” Moira pursed her red lips together and stared at the pair with shrewd eyes. “Yes, I see the resemblance now. He matriculated from an art school there.” 

“Culinary school.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Moira clucked her tongue appreciatively. “My, he did grow up nice.” 

David risked a glance at his mother, but refrained from commenting. He’d have to agree with his mother’s assessment and he was feeling too contrarian for that at the moment. 

“I had thought there was some scuttlebutt about Alexis and the animal physician from that little show of yours.” 

David grunted. He forgot—to his peril—that Moira’s calculated indifference hid the fact that she had a vested interest in the family company. Johnny was happy to let David run the show these days, but Moira never stopped keeping tabs. 

Moira tapped the side of her champagne flute with one perfectly manicured nail. “Could be bad for business, this coquetry.” 

“I’ll think of something,” David said, grabbing a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray. “I always do.” 

***

Patrick approached Alexis cautiously, afraid that every bit of this, from Alexis picking him up at the train station to inviting him to this party, had all been a complete figment of his lovesick imagination. But then Alexis waved at him as she shoved her brother away and smiled a smile so radiantly full of joy that Patrick almost lost his breath and went a bit wobbly in his knees.

“Alexis, hi.” Patrick stupidly started to hold out his hand— _what, was she going to shake it like they’d never met?_ —but he recovered enough to lean in and drop a trembling kiss on her cheek. She threw back her head and laughed, tall and regal and dizzyingly alive and Patrick understood how it was that sultans and celebrities and more than one dictator had fallen in love with her.

“I’m so glad you made it, Patrick.” Her voice was smooth and sure, the words dropping effortlessly from her lips. “Let’s dance.”

Patrick noticed, for what seemed to be the first time, the orchestra filling the air with long stretches of lyrical notes. The sound seemed to twist and swirl around them, bringing them closer together as if wrapped together with their strings. Patrick took Alexis’ hand in his and moved, praying to God he didn’t step on her feet.

She was slightly taller than him in her heels, Patrick realized, but it didn’t bother him, not with Alexis in his arms. He found it a bit exhilarating, actually, to have to look up into Alexis’ face, to see how the light caught in her eyes from this angle.

Patrick lost count of how many songs they danced to, but Alexis was graceful on her feet as they talked fondly of their childhoods together and all the parties just like these that he had watched from his perch in the tree.

Alexis pulled back just a little and looked at Patrick. He willed his stomach to stop jumping around. “Hey. You want to get out of here?”

Patrick felt his face flush. “To solarium?”

Alexis’ eyes flared with pleasure. “You read my mind. Let me just go grab us a bottle of champagne. I’ll be right there.”

Patrick nodded, just once, and kissed Alexis on her cheek again. He let himself get folded into the mass of people before slipping back through the trees to walk past the garage and on to the solarium, which he knew would be full of privacy and the Roses’ prized roses.

***

As if summoned, David appeared by Alexis’ elbow just as she was asking an auburn-haired server to bring her a bottle of champagne. “Before you ruin all my hard work, I need you for five minutes.” David grasped Alexis by the crook of her elbow and propelled her back up the steps and towards a young, good-looking man.

“Alexis, this is Ted Mullens.” David clapped her on the back and sent her stumbling toward Ted. “Ted, my sister Alexis.”

“Watch it, David,” Alexis seethed, smoothing out her skirt. “This is Oscar de la Renta.”

Alexis tugged the dress into place and flipped her perfectly styled curls of hair out of her eyes before taking Ted’s outstretched hand with a demure smile.

The man in question cleared his throat and stammered. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Alexis. Without sounding too forward, I think you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“What? No!” Alexis said, equal parts flattered and aloof, twirling her hair through her fingers. “I’m sure there's another girl...somewhere.”

Ted blushed and looked at the ground. 

“Look, Tim—”

“Ted.”

“It was lovely to meet you, but there’s someone—”

“Oh, Alexis,” David looked pointedly in her direction. “Surely you have time for one dance with Ted.”

Alexis breathed out her nose like an irritated horse and took a step back. David could see that she was dangerously close to the edge of the stairs, teetering on her strappy five inch heels. With one more heedless step back, her careful poise could be upended and to his benefit: a delay of Alexis’ rendezvous with Patrick and a chance for Ted to step in and save the day.

It wasn’t that David wanted Alexis to get hurt. But it wasn’t like it was a full staircase either. Just four steps really, wide and made with imported Italian travertine marble. It was barely a fall at all. An unavoidable accident, really. As David considered his options, Alexis took one step back, lost her balance, and went tumbling down the stairs with a surprised, high-pitched scream.


	3. everyday words seem to turn into love songs

The solarium was a rounded structure almost entirely constructed of windows and a complicated latticework of wrought iron casings. During the day, rays of bright sun slanted between the creeping vines that tangled up the steel beams and in the evening, the moon could sometimes be seen through the clouds. There was a small bubbling fountain in the middle next to a small rounded wrought iron table with a glass tabletop and a few wrought iron benches sprinkled throughout. Everywhere you looked were a dazzling array of bright flowers of every type and color. 

Alexis was taking longer than expected, but Patrick didn’t care. He’d wanted Alexis for ten years; what was another ten minutes? He couldn’t believe this was finally happening, like he’d willed this moment into existence. He could just make out the soft strains of the music floating on the air and his stomach twisted in anticipation of kissing Alexis.

He heard the sound of someone approaching through the heavy glass doors and Patrick turned around excitedly, but his stomach plummeted when he saw David Rose walk through the door.

“Hello, Patrick.” David’s voice was almost nonchalant, as if they just happened to run into each other all the time in romantic gardens full of flowers. 

“David. Uh...hi. I was expecting Alexis.”

“Unfortunately, Alexis cannot make it, so she sent me instead. I believe you ordered champagne?” 

David held up a bottle of uncorked champagne and two glasses in his other hand. Patrick eyed David and the bottle suspiciously, but stepped forward as if pulled by an imaginary string.

“Is Alexis okay?” Patrick felt a small tendril of unease slide down the back of his throat as David’s lips pulled into a fleeting but satisfied smile.

“When is Alexis ever not okay?” David asked with an exaggerated shrug, setting the champagne flutes on the table. Patrick noticed for the first time how David’s face changed when he spoke of his sister, a mixture of exasperation and irritation, but also fierce protectiveness and pride. It made him softer, somehow, more relatable. Patrick had never really thought that could be possible. He’d always found David so detached and unapproachable. 

But Patrick was less easily intimidated these days. He had survived working in the kitchens of truly terrifying French chefs, after all. “What happened to her?”

David sighed and began to pour the champagne. “She fell down the stairs on her way to meet you and sprained her ankle. Could be broken. We’ll know tomorrow after she’s had some x-rays.”

“Really?” Patrick asked skeptically.

Patrick met David’s eyes, so dark in the shadows as to almost be black. Fitting, for David. Patrick had never once seen him wear a color besides black, white, or gray. David held up a flute of fizzing champagne and beckoned to Patrick with it.

“Really really.”

Patrick reached out for the champagne and felt his fingers brush against the soft edges of David’s hand and the cool metal line of his wide rings. Patrick’s skin tingled from the contact but he didn’t pull away immediately like he should have. 

David smirked, one side of his mouth colliding into his cheek and setting off a single dimple. “Alexis asked me to give you this too.”

He leaned in slowly, one hand sliding up to rest on Patrick’s shoulder and pressed a kiss into each of Patrick’s cheeks. David cleared his throat and leaned back enough to look into Patrick’s eyes, hand still on his shoulder. “It’s all in the family.”

Patrick had kissed plenty of men like this. He’d lived in France for five years, for fuck’s sake, it was just the way people said hello there. It had always felt like a nothing thing before. But this felt like something.

Patrick swallowed and took a half step back causing David’s hand to drop between them. His cheeks burned where David’s lips had touched him, the ghost of David’s stubble still prickling under his cheekbones This close to his face, Patrick could see that David’s eyes weren’t an unfathomable black abyss, but warm and chocolatey. Almost something soothing and comforting. It must just be David’s resemblance to Alexis, Patrick decided. They were siblings, after all.

Except Alexis’ eyes were aquamarine.

Patrick took another step back.

“Why are you really here, David? Did the family send you to deal with me? Do you not think I’m good enough for Alexis?” 

He knew the Roses to be vain and self-important but never quite so elitist. David scoffed, but looked away as if Patrick might have hit the nail too close to the head. He took a sip of his champagne before answering. 

“If anything you’re too good for Alexis. And this is the 21st century, Patrick. I hope you don’t think we have any antiquated ideas about class or status here. You know my mom used to be in soap operas. And you’ve seen the kind of men Alexis has dated before.”

“I have,” Patrick said. “Which makes me know that something else is going on here. This doesn’t have anything to do with Ted Mullens, does it?”

David laughed, just one short staccato burst. “You do pay attention, don’t you?”

“You may not have realized it, but I’ve been observing your family my whole life. I know a lot more than you think. I also know you’ve been hinting at a relationship between Alexis and Ted on social media for weeks and that he’s the hottest property you’ve got at Interflix.”

David sucked his lips into his mouth and attempted not to smile. But Patrick could tell he had impressed him.

“I thought we paid for you to learn how to cook.”

“Oh, I assure you it was money well spent. I’m an excellent chef,” Patrick replied, gaining his confidence. “But I also took plenty of business classes to learn how to run a successful restaurant. I know my way around a spreadsheet and understand a thing or two about revenue projections and this—” Patrick waved a hand between him and David— “this feels like a negotiation.”

“And are you naming your price?” David lifted one impressive eyebrow. 

Patrick had once spent an entire summer caddying for Mr. Rose at the Nassau Country Club, so he’d seen Johnny make the same exact move dozens of times. On Johnny’s face, it merely read as quizzical or faintly befuddled. On David’s face, it was a challenge. Patrick thought wildly that David’s right eyebrow probably accounted for at least 60% of Rose Video’s continued success. 

“There’s not a price,” Patrick responded. “For Alexis, there’s no price. I’ve been in love with her for half my life. Even moving halfway across the globe did nothing to stop it. Believe me, I tried.”

“Really?” David asked curiously. 

“Really really.” Patrick admitted and then took a gulp of champagne. 

“She seems to be quite infatuated with you too.” David said it quietly, begrudgingly, before drowning the remainder of his champagne. He set his glass down on the table next to the bottle. “But you know how Alexis is.”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “I do.”

David leveled an appraising look at Patrick, testing the veracity of his words. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

Patrick set his half-full champagne flute on the table next to David’s empty glass and turned to face him, squaring his shoulders and willing himself not to back down.

“Will you tell Alexis I’ll come visit her tomorrow?”

David exhaled a long, drawn out breath but then, finally, he nodded.

“Thank you, David.”

Patrick left before David could say anything more.

***

Even wearing yesterday’s make-up, a messy bun, and sporting a heavily bandaged foot that was currently propped up on the tufted ottoman in front of her, Alexis was undeniably beautiful. David was always so careful in how he presented himself, the way he dressed, the skincare regime he followed, every interaction, conversation, and business transaction ruthlessly considered and then reconsidered again. But Alexis gave no fucks at all what anyone thought of her or the things she said. 

She was David’s goddamn hero.

But sitting across from her in the morning room where they had just gathered for a late Sunday brunch, David watched Alexis sip on her mimosa and carelessly giggle at her phone, and David hated her a little bit. Things always seemed to fall into Alexis’ lap without her even trying. Whereas David had been trying hard his whole life.

The door opened and the newest member of the Rosebud Manor staff careened in, carrying an overflowing gift basket wrapped in cellophane. She set it on the table in front of Alexis and smoothed back the hair that had escaped her high ponytail of thick red hair.

“This just came for you, Miss Rose.”

Alexis smiled up at the girl, wrinkling her nose in the way that always endeared her to new people. “Please, call me Alexis,” she said in her most bubbly voice.

The girl smiled euphorically. “Alexis,” she repeated breathlessly.

Yup. Another person fallen under Alexis’ spell.

“You’re new, right?” Alexis turned her piercing eyes more fully on the girl who blushed furiously. “What’s your name again?”

“Oh, it’s Twyla.”

“Well, thanks so much, Twyla!”

Twyla nodded her head once, registering the dismissal and, with a faint smile, was out the door again. David leaned forward to peer at the basket which appeared to be full of a stunning assortment of colorful items.

“Who’s it from, Alexis? Another one of your admirers?” David asked snidely.

Alexis paused from opening the basket’s card to glare up at David. “Please, David. I had a lot of sympathetic messages on my Instagram last night when I posted a picture of my swollen ankle. Speaking of, how did it go with Patrick last night? Did you tell him how sorry I was that I couldn’t come?”

David merely rolled his eyes and examined his cuticles. “It was fine,” he said.

“Oh my god, David. Did you scare him off or something?”

“No, I did not scare him off,” David insisted, his voice rising just an octave higher like it did when he was starting to feel harassed. Alexis always had been able to get a rise out of him faster than anyone else. “He said he’d come by to visit you today.”

Alexis clasped her hands together in front of her chest like a pleased chipmunk. “Aww. See? I told you he was an adorable button.”

David decided not to respond. He didn’t want to consider whether Patrick Brewer was, in fact, an adorable button. His return mostly felt like an inconvenience, to David. 

Alexis gave a large groan of annoyance. “Ugh, David. Did you have something to do with this?”

She shoved the card into David’s chest as she opened the now presumably offensive gift basket.

The card read: _“Hope last night wasn’t a turtle disaster. Wishing you a ‘speedy’ recovery. - Ted”_

Inside, was a large stuffed turtle, fancy fruits and hard nuts, a bottle of sparkling Italian soda, fuzzy socks, and books of crossword and Sudoku puzzles and Scrabble. The perfect gift basket for someone who couldn’t walk.

David smirked. Ted was good. Maybe this wasn’t a lost cause after all, bad puns aside.

“So Alexis,” David drawled. “How did it go with Ted last night?”

Alexis huffed. “I’ll have you know he was a perfect gentleman.” She flicked nonexistent hair out of her face, forgetting it was already in a bun. “He helped carry me inside and then examined my ankle. When he was satisfied that it wasn’t broken, he helped wrap it up and then he left.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Okay, fine. He had very gentle hands. I see why the animals love him so much.”

“But what about Patrick?” David asked with faux innocence. 

“What about Patrick?” she said with a pointed glare. “It’s been Patrick and me since we were kids. You know that.”

“Well, that’s some bullshit right there.” David couldn’t decide if he wanted to scream or laugh.

David never got to hear Alexis’ response though, because Twyla walked back in closely followed by Patrick.

“Thanks, Twyla. I told you I knew where to find them.” Patrick was his usual polite and charming self and Twyla seemed to be just as mesmerized by him as she was Alexis.

“Patrick!” Alexis beamed widely as she shoved the gift basket out of the way. “You came!”

Patrick flicked a quick glance at David. “Of course. Didn’t David tell you that?”

“Oh, he did. Here, come sit next to me!” Alexis patted the seat next to her and Patrick quickly joined her, their heads tilting together in private conversation, effectively shutting David out.

David considered leaving. He had plenty of emails to send out, text messages to return or ignore. He needed to go over tomorrow’s agenda with Stevie one more time too. Really, Sundays were just as busy as any other day. The only luxury he allowed himself were these Sunday brunches with his family. But maybe he had meddled enough. If this was like all of Alexis’ prior relationships, it would fizzle out sooner or later. Perhaps sooner if he did less to nudge Alexis away from Patrick. And Patrick wasn’t a bad guy. He just wasn’t….useful. Not to Rose Video or Interflix. And pretty much all the social interactions and personal relationships David had cultivated for the last ten years were in service to the media empire he had been trying to expand and build. A normal everyman like Patrick didn’t have much use for him, even with his fancy culinary degree and cute smile.

David had been so distracted by his thoughts that he didn’t even hear Alexis screeching his name in that lyrically aggrieved way of hers.

“What?” he nearly shouted, eyes rolling into the back of his head without him even meaning to do it. It was just his natural response to Alexis calling his name.

“Patrick just told me that he’s never been to Oyster Bay!”

“So?” David said with a shrug. “Nothing exciting has happened in Oyster Bay since _The Great Gatsby._ He’s not missing much.”

“You should take him out on one of our boats,” Alexis insisted. David couldn’t parse why this should mean something to Alexis. Except he knew that sunset boat rides on Long Island Sound were always one of her first steps in trying to impress a guy she was actually really interested in.

“Why don’t you take him then?”

“Duh. My ankle.” Alexis widened her eyes as she pointed with flourishing exaggeration at her foot.

“Alexis, really, it’s fine.” Patrick said in a placating voice, his face so earnestly sincere it made David’s teeth ache. “I’m sure it can’t be much different than Hempstead Bay. I’d rather stay and talk with you.”

It was too much. David made a snap decision. “No, I’ll take you, Patrick. Let’s go.”

***

David was standing next to Patrick, staring at a boat. It was a nice boat. A sleek white speedracer that Alexis had insisted the family buy after her tryst with one of the lesser princes of Monaco had given her a taste for high-speed water sports. David didn’t normally have time for such things like spending time outside in the daylight hours so he’d never actually driven the thing. It had two bucket seats in front of a startling array of buttons, gauges, and levers and a small open pit with a rounded bench for other riders.

“Come on, David,” Patrick said with a nudge. “It can’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You’re either very sure of yourself or very impatient.”

Patrick shrugged but since both of his hands were shoved deep into his pockets, he looked ridiculous. “I taught myself how to drive stick on your dad’s Corvette when I was 13. How hard can a boat be?”

“Wait, what? 13? That’s not even legal!”

“And you always do things that are strictly legal?” Patrick quirked up one eyebrow at David. God, those eyebrows were barely even there and yet they seemed follically designed to taunt David.

Patrick clambered over the back of the boat and jumped into the pit before sitting down in the bucket seat in front of the steering wheel. David had no choice but to follow him so he climbed awkwardly into the boat. He wondered briefly if there were any life vests and if he should insist on them wearing them but they were sure to be horrifying neon colors that clashed with his aesthetic. He decided not to say anything. 

Strangely, David actually trusted Patrick not to kill him. Unlike Alexis. He’d have worn two life vests if Alexis were driving. But David merely sat down next to Patrick and handed him the key. Their fingers brushed and David felt the same kind of electrifying zing he’d felt last night in the solarium, handing Patrick a glass of champagne. The boat roared to life and Patrick slowly but competently maneuvered it away from the dock and into Long Island Sound.

Patrick looked good out here under the cloudless sky, wind reddening his cheeks, and making his eyes burn bright in his face before he lowered dark sunglasses onto his nose. He was wearing well-fitted jeans and a soft blue-gray T-shirt that pulled open at the neck just so slightly. David could see the steady pulse of Patrick’s heart at his throat.

“See, David?” Patrick shouted as he turned to look at David, mouth spread wide open in simple delight. “I told you driving a boat would be easy.”

David didn’t trust himself to speak so he merely nodded his head and admired the sinews of Patrick’s arms at the wheel, the confident tilt of his head as he urged the boat out of the bay and further into the open sea. David could feel the wind whipping through his hair and knew it probably looked wildly ruffled and uncharacteristically askew. He tried to resist the urge to mold it back into place. This is why he didn’t enjoy sports or hobbies or even the outdoors like some people did. He couldn’t control it the way he could everything else. 

But then Patrick looked over at him and smiled another huge smile and something softened deep in the pit of David’s stomach. Who was he kidding? Patrick didn’t care about David’s hair. Patrick was only out here because Alexis had insisted. And David was only out here because he needed to keep Alexis from getting too attached to Patrick. 

Once they’d made it past the buoys and away from the other boats, Patrick switched the boat to idle, and let them be gently rocked by the rippling waves.

“This is nice, don’t you think?”

“Nice? You think this is _nice_?” What could possibly be nice about bobbing about in a massive body of water with the threat of death hanging about at every corner? David liked land, solid and secure under his feet. 

“What’s wrong with nice?” Patrick asked honestly. “People always seem to underestimate the beauty of nice. Nice is good.” 

David huffed and muttered to himself, “Well, you would know.” Patrick was the very definition of nice; kind, inoffensive, non-threatening. David didn’t know what to do with nice. 

“You want some music?” David asked, just for something to say. He pulled out his phone and connected it to the boat’s Bluetooth-enabled sound system and pulled up his favorites playlist of ‘80s pop divas.

“What is this?” Patrick asked with a laugh when Tina Turner came blaring through the speakers.

“What do you mean, ‘what is this’?” David asked testily. He did not care to have his musical preferences impugned by someone wearing a shirt that came in a multipack. “This music is timeless.”

“I just mean I’ve been in Paris for the last five years and I’ve missed out on a lot of new music. Hand it over.” Patrick held out his palm, a teasing smile tilting his lips into a semicolon.

“Absolutely not,” David sneered, clutching his phone closer to his chest. “A man’s phone is personal.”

The semi-colon was a full-blown parenthesis now. It took David aback how much he liked Patrick’s smile. “I was not aware of that. And here I thought it was just a phone,” Patrick said.

“There’s private stuff on my phone.”

“I’m not going to look at anything private, David. I just want to see if you have any music on there that was released in the last five years.”

David considered this. He never let his phone out of his possession, not for one single minute. He struggled to let Stevie take it once a year when he upgraded it and had her transfer all his files and contacts over.

“Please?” Patrick said, and somehow his voice was both tender and teasing.

David handed it over. Patrick quickly scrolled through his playlists before selecting a radio station with current Top 40 favorites. David also did not like leaving his musical selections up to chance, but he’d already conceded this much ground.

Patrick returned the phone to David with a smile of thanks and settled back into his chair as if it was the most comfortable seat in the world. The absolutely startling thing was Patrick didn’t even look all that out of place here on this expensive boat in the middle of the lapping blue estuary somewhere between New York and Connecticut. David moved through the world knowing he had power and money, but he never felt as comfortable in his own skin as Patrick looked, elbow perched on the seat back, head propped up on one hand and tilted toward the rays of the sun.

“Did you like Paris?” David finally asked when he couldn’t bear staring into the sun any longer.

Patrick seemed to wake up at that. “Did I like Paris?” he scoffed incredulously. “I loved Paris. It was an amazing experience.” Patrick lifted up his sunglasses and pushed them to the top of his head and leaned forward close enough that David could see the way his sunglasses had caught a few of Patrick’s emerging curls and made them stand straight up. “I owe your family a lot, David. Please don’t ever think that I’m anything less than grateful for what they did for me.”

David felt himself almost blush. Of course he hadn’t really had anything to do with it—it had been all his parents’ doing—but he felt a rush of pleasure at the sincere compliment all the same.

The song changed and David’s almost happy mood immediately soured. David reached for his phone and clicked it to the next song. Some songs weren’t worth hearing. “Sorry. Can’t stand that one,” David explained. Patrick's eyes stared back at him softly. 

“Certain songs bring back certain memories for me too,” he said knowingly. Like you couldn’t possibly hate a song because it was simply a bad song.

In this case, it reminded him of a person but how could Patrick know that?

David looked away, pretending to watch the other boaters and jet skis as they cut through the foam of the choppy water. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Patrick cocked his head to one side as he tapped one finger against his denim-clad thigh, carefully considering David before he said, “You know, I always thought you preferred to be alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just...you forget that I grew up at Rosebud Manor too. And I noticed stuff. I noticed that Alexis brought home a whole lot of different dates, but you never did.”

“Oh, I’ve dated a thousand people. They’ve just never lasted long enough to warrant a trip to the ancestral home,” David smiled ruefully. “I’ve never been very lucky in love. Sometimes I think I should stop trying.”

“So who were they?” Patrick asked, kindly, like they were friends. Maybe David could make a friend. Well, a friend who wasn’t Stevie. Who was also his assistant. Who he paid very, _very_ well.

“He was a photographer.” David couldn’t believe he’d just confessed that.

“Oh,” Patrick said, but it didn’t sound like a bad ‘oh’ or a surprised ‘oh.’ Just a concerned ‘oh.’ “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah...well.” David shrugged as if his past relationships weren’t a dumpster fire of heartache and embarrassment. He never could figure out why he always picked the absolute worst people when he was so competent in other areas of his life. He desperately wanted to change the topic before he started spilling all his secrets to Patrick. “So what are your plans now that you’re back in New York?”

“Get a job at a great restaurant, build contacts, network like crazy, and hopefully, eventually, open my own restaurant.” Patrick’s voice took on a hard edge, like he’d already mapped it all out, built the spreadsheets for cost projections and expected revenues, and knew every part of his dream forwards and backwards.

“Not ambitious at all, are you?” But David couldn’t help smiling at Patrick’s drive and determination. It was something he understood. Something they had in common. 

Patrick looked a little abashed, but it was still an insufferably adorable look on him. “My friends at culinary school did seem to think I was a little too intense sometimes.”

“Can’t imagine why.” David smiled and Patrick responded with a lopsided grin of his own. “Well, look, I do happen to know a few well-known chefs. I could set up some meetings if you’d be interested.” 

“Like with who?” Patrick asked cautiously. 

David smiled. “Well, your standard celebrity chefs. Anthony Bourdain, Gordon Ramsay, Ina Garten, Tom Coliccho. Guy Fieri has been after me for ages to do a new dumpster diving show or something, but I’m going to assume you have more self-respect than that.”

“I appreciate that assumption, thank you.”

“I also know a lot of the best chefs in the city too just because I really like to eat. If there’s a chef you really want to work with here, I know how to get their attention.”

Patrick paused, looking both eager and terrified, like David was laying landmines and he needed to proceed with caution. “You’d do that, for me?”

David shrugged again, as if he was often in the habit of doing favors for his sister’s boyfriends. Which he wasn’t. He normally just paid them off and kicked them to the curb. But Patrick needed a more delicate touch, David had decided. And maybe David could keep Patrick so distracted with his job search and networking that he wouldn’t have much time left over for Alexis. He knew that would annoy Alexis. A lot. 

“Well, you’re gonna have to cook for me first. I need to know if you’re as good as you say you are.”

Patrick grinned. “Oh, I’ll cook for you.”

David tried not to let that thrill him as much as it did. “I’ll be busy most of the week. How about Friday? Can you come to my apartment in the city?”

“I can do Friday.”

David suddenly felt a bit embarrassed. “This would be the part where I would offer to have my driver come pick you up, but that’s your dad, so…”

Patrick laughed. He laughed like a person who did it frequently, without holding anything back.

“I can get myself there, don’t worry about that. Do you own decent pans or a cutting board?”

“Yes! Or at least I think I do. I may have to get back to you on that.”

“You do that.” Patrick stood up and scanned the horizon like a sailor lost at sea searching for dry land. “You know, David, I think you were right. Oyster Bay is not very exciting.”

David grinned. “Don’t tell Alexis.”

Patrick slashed an X across his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He revved the engine, swung the boat around, and pointed it toward home. 

David surreptitiously checked his phone while Adele wailed in the background. Twelve missed calls, 32 text messages, and 47 emails. This is why he never had time for lazy summer days like this. It was going to take half the night to answer them all or he’d be hopelessly behind by tomorrow morning. But then David looked at Patrick, all aglow in the setting sun, and it felt like his cheeks were burning from smiling more than he’d probably ever smiled before and the wind whispered through his hair and curled around his ears and he thought maybe it had been worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could never quite find a place in the fic to properly explain that Rose Video Entertainment is the parent company and that Interflix, which David runs, is one of its subsidiaries. But since Interflix is really the only thing making money for Rose Video, David essentially runs the whole company. I sometimes use Rose Video and Interflix interchangeably and that's why. I've probably overthought this too much, but I didn't want it to be confusing. :)


	4. when you kiss me, heaven sighs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Five is a pretty short chapter so I'm going to post three chapters this week. :)

David Rose never arrived at his office earlier than 10am, but he made up for it for working long after it got dark. He preferred it that way. He’d rather be alone in his office, occupied by work as night descended on the city than alone in his 5th Avenue apartment or at Rosebud Manor, bouncing through its numberless empty rooms.

So Stevie Budd, David’s long suffering assistant and reluctant bearer of the title of David’s best friend, looked like she had been caught off guard when David breezed into the office before 9am on Monday morning, wearing a dark slim cut Tom Ford suit and carrying his ever present black leather satchel.

“Stevie,” David called as he made his way past her desk into his executive office suite, “make sure my Friday evening stays clear. I have plans.”

“Oh, is it something naughty? Can I join?” Stevie dropped the papers she had been about to file and followed David into his office. She was never one to let a chance to poke and prod David pass her by.

“No, it is not. And no, you may not,” David waved a hand in the air before reaching into his bag to pull out some files. “Patrick is going to cook dinner for me.” He had informed Stevie of the “Patrick situation” last night. He’d had to text Stevie anyway since she had sent seven of his 32 missed text messages. 

Stevie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Aren’t he and Alexis a thing now?”

“Yes. Well, maybe not. They can’t actually go out because of her foot.” David pulled out his Eames chair and unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat down. “Anyway, I told Patrick I could help him find a job as a chef—“

“That’s uncharacteristically altruistic of you.”

“—but he needed to demonstrate his cooking skills first.”

“Yeah, that makes more sense.”

David ignored the jab and continued on. “Make a reservation for Le Bernardin for next Saturday. 6pm. Also get me two tickets to a Broadway show for that night too. Do you think Patrick would like  _ Wicked? _ ”

Stevie shrugged. “Never met the guy, but sure. Who doesn’t love a flying green witch?”

David stared at her a beat and then tilted his head. “I changed my mind _.  _ Let’s do _ Les Miserables. _ That’s very French. He’ll like that. And Enjolras is always easy on the eyes.”

“Is this for Patrick or for you?” Stevie asked, hands coming to her hips in a challenge.

David glared at her. “I don’t think I pay you for this kind of lip.”

“Oh no. That’s the only thing you pay me for. I do the rest of this job out of the goodness of my heart.”

David raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you had one of those.”

Stevie pointed her chin at David. “I could say the same to you.”

“Can you just do your job without questioning every single thing I say?” David said with beleaguered exasperation. He swiveled his chair towards his computer and reached to turn it on. When he looked up, Stevie was still there, staring at him with a knowing smile and one raised eyebrow.

“I like this for you. You seem flustered.”

“I am not flustered!” David cried even though he was, quite demonstrably, flustered. But that was Stevie’s fault. She was always needling him. It was actually a really bad quality in an assistant. 

“I think maybe  _ you  _ like him.”

David groaned. “No, I do not. He’s probably one of those chefs that wears Crocs. Do you really think I could be attracted to a Croc-wearing chef? Besides, he is not interested in me. For one, he’s a basic straight boy who wears mid-range denim and second, he’s been in love with Alexis for half his life. I can’t compete with that.”

“Seems like you’re trying awfully hard for a lost cause then.”

“It’s not because of Patrick, if that’s what you’re implying. I need to keep Patrick away from Alexis so she can help us seal up the contract negotiations with Ted.” It was a perfectly reasonable reason to interfere in his sister’s relationship, after all. It was simply business. The more he distracted Patrick with offers to help Patrick find a job and cook for him and eat out at fancy restaurants with him, the less time Patrick had for Alexis and the more time she had for Ted. It was a win-win. And if David happened to not hate spending time with Patrick...well, that was just a bonus. 

Stevie, apparently, didn’t agree. “Whatever lies you need to tell yourself.”

David groaned. “And what exactly are you implying here?”

“Yes, we need to renegotiate the terms of Ted’s contract but the fear he’s going to abandon Interflix and go to Hulu or Amazon or, hell, even ABC is completely unfounded. He’s an endearingly loyal labrador. He’s not a flight risk.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yeah, I can. Have you met Ted?”

“Stevie,” David said quietly. “I’ve been burned too many times before to leave this to chance.”

Stevie’s face did that thing it sometimes did when she realized the conversation had shifted to something else. The sneer slipped off her face and was replaced with something almost like concern. “I know you have.”

“Just get me the reservation and tickets. Please?” He was already exhausted and it wasn’t even 9:30 yet. 

Stevie nodded once. “I’m on it.”

***

Patrick arrived at the door of David’s Upper East Side apartment with two Whole Foods bags at the designated time on Friday night. Patrick felt like he had already traversed the gauntlet just getting to David’s door between the long trip into the city, the shopping for groceries, the barrage of questions David’s doorman had peppered him with, and the slow elevator ride up to the penthouse floor. So Patrick was already a bit winded and unprepared for the gut punch that was David Rose at the door. 

Even when dressed for comfort, which was rare, David always looked impeccable and impeccably armored. But Patrick had never seen David looking so soft and unguarded, wearing a cable knit sweater made of the softest looking yarn Patrick had ever seen and artfully ripped black jeans. The yarn was gray with speckles of black interwoven into the threads like fine cut marble. His hair was flying high off his forehead but it was softer somehow, curling and curving at the ends. 

It was a tiny act of providence that Patrick’s hands were full of groceries and he couldn’t reach out to finger the hem of David’s sleeve to feel the weft and weight of the yarn. Patrick wanted to see if it was really as soft as it looked.

“Hi,” Patrick finally managed to say, but it came out breathless. And then, feeling desperate to do or say something charming, he lifted up the two bags and asked, “Hungry?”

“Always,” David responded with a sardonic chuckle and stepped back to let Patrick through the door.

The space inside was at once absolutely nothing like Patrick expected but also absolutely fit David Rose. It somehow combined the historic nature of the building—the wood floor, the exposed brick, the arched windows and high ceilings—with a modern sensibility that blended the new and old into something exquisitely beautiful. It had obviously been renovated to provide a more open concept flow but it never sacrificed its historic charm for contemporary design. Patrick could tell David had an exacting eye and a very clear aesthetic viewpoint.

David pointed to the kitchen with its clearly unused gas range and pristine copper pots and pans. Patrick lifted the bags of groceries and his traveling case of knives onto the gleaming countertops and looked around, taking it all in, including the man who seemed to be afraid of getting too close to any appliances.

“This is a beautiful kitchen, David,” Patrick said and David scooted a little closer to the other side of the island across from Patrick. “You must cook some amazing meals in here.”

“I think we both know I do nothing of the sort in here.”

“Even without the absolute terror in your eyes right now, your pots would give you away. They’ve clearly never seen heat before.” Patrick laughed at the twisted face David made.

“I tried to convince my interior decorator I didn’t even need a kitchen, but he insisted. Said I couldn’t sell it without one. Like anyone in Manhattan actually cooks at home.”

Patrick liked the way David rolled his eyes and the gentle way he had of putting himself down. Maybe David didn’t take himself too seriously after all. “Do you know if your interior decorator also happened to stock this kitchen with cutting boards or bowls? Maybe an apron?”

“I honestly have no idea. Be my guest.” David waved his hands with a flourish, giving Patrick permission to rifle through his cupboards and cabinets. David sidled around the center island to open a drawer next to the refrigerator. “The only kitchen utensil I know for sure that I have is a corkscrew.” David pulled it out and waggled it in the air as proof.

Patrick looked over his shoulder where he was crouched beneath the counters, digging through the cupboards in search of a colander and smiled up at David. “Well, that will definitely come in handy. I brought a nice red wine to pair with our meal tonight.”

David stopped waving the corkscrew and set it on the counter, a secret smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And do you like….red wine?”

“Of course,” Patrick said with a shrug as he stood up from his excavation of the bottom cabinets, colander in hand. “But I spent a whole semester studying wine. We traveled all over France testing different vinters, grape varieties, and casking methods. I wouldn’t call myself a sommelier, but I know a good wine when I taste one.”

David nodded carefully. “And where can you find the best wine in France?”

Patrick dug into his bags and pulled out some crusty bread and a round of cheese wrapped in cloth, some herbs and dried cranberries. He opened the oven and checked inside—who knew what David might have stuck inside an oven he had clearly never turned on—and set the oven to preheat. “Depends on the occasion, I guess. Sometimes the wine you like best is the one you never expected to like at all. Everyone goes to Bordeaux or Champagne or Provence, but my favorite winery was this tiny little place outside of Orleans.”

Patrick turned back to his prep station while David settled onto a high backed chair at the island to watch. Patrick worked efficiently with sure strokes, never losing the rhythm of his hands as he performed some sort of alchemy that David didn’t understand. 

Patrick shoved something into the oven and reached over to pluck one of the gleaming copper pans from the overhead pot rack. He never lost the train of his thought or the steadiness of his voice as he worked in his methodical way, cleaning and wiping down everything after every step. David had always loved the joy of eating, the beauty of a perfectly executed plate of food. He never knew the process of creating the food could be just as riveting. David couldn’t look away.

David was startled when the oven timer dinged and Patrick moved nimbly to peek inside, tongue sticking out as he assessed the doneness of whatever was inside. Satisfied, he grabbed the pan with his towel and set it on the counter. In a blink, he had it plated and garnished with herbs and stacked next to a pile of bread and set it right in front of David.

David leaned forward to inhale a heavenly scent. “Uh...what’s this?”

“Baked camembert with cranberries and rosemary.” Patrick flicked his towel back over his shoulder. “Alexis might have said that you love cheese. I thought you might like an appetizer.”

David sat back down in his chair with a thud. “Oh. You told her about tonight?”

Patrick leaned against the counter, reached for a piece of bread, dipped it into the cheese, and popped it into his mouth. “Of course. I go visit her every day.” He pulled down his towel from his shoulder again and wiped at a nonexistent spot on the counter.

“That’s...nice,” David replied. 

Patrick nodded his head as he selected a new knife from his case and began cutting some fresh leafy greens. David tentatively reached out for a chunk of bread and dipped it into the cheese. The pungent flavors of the cheese hit his tongue and he closed his eyes in ecstasy. Damn Alexis and his weakness for cheese.

“So things are going well with you and Alexis?” David asked, because he couldn’t help himself.

Patrick didn’t lift up his head but David could see the smile that spread across his face as he chopped and chopped and chopped. “Yeah, it’s pretty good. Once she’s back on her feet in a few weeks, we can finally go on a real date.”

“Oh?”

Patrick picked up something that looked like an onion, but smaller and began chopping it into the most perfectly even squares. “Did you know Alexis was the first girl I ever kissed?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We were eleven and roller skating together around the driveway. She was so shaky on her skates and I caught her before she fell one time and then she kissed me.”

David suspected that Patrick was blushing right now but Patrick kept his eyes trained on the potatoes he was cutting so David couldn’t tell for sure. It was kind of sweetly innocent, he thought, that Patrick still remembered his first kiss. 

Patrick got more deep into his cooking, doing a delicate dance between the cutting board and the range, sautéing onions, reducing a deep red sauce, and peeling carrots. Now Patrick was whipping egg whites by hand so that the muscles of his forearms rippled under his skin and his biceps strained at the sleeves of his rolled-up button down. David pulled at the cuff of his sweater’s neck trying to cool down. Did kitchens always get so hot? How could Patrick stand it? But Patrick looked unfazed by the heat. His cheeks didn’t look like they were flaming hot. They looked just as smooth and pale as always. David stuffed more bread and cheese into his mouth.

“So did you always know you wanted to be a chef like your mom?”

“God, no,” Patrick said with a snort. “Did you always know you wanted to run Rose Video?” he countered.

David shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“What made you change your mind then?”

David shrugged. “My dad didn’t see the writing on the wall. Video rental stores were a dying business model and I suggested a way we could pivot into new markets and expand into different entertainment avenues. I only meant to help during the transition period as we got Interflix up and running, but it’s just never seemed like the right time to leave.”

“And now it’s been ten years and you basically run the whole company.”

“And now I basically run the whole company,” David repeated. He looked away to the wide picture windows that showed New York City lighting up for the night. He never got sick of the view. When he actually got to enjoy it. 

Patrick resumed his chopping. “What did you want to do?”

David sighed, resigned. “I don’t know. I always liked art though.”

Patrick looked over the apartment with its clear sense of style and the several art pieces hanging from the walls and nodded. “I can see that. Maybe someday. There’s still time.”

David smiled wanly. “Yeah. Maybe someday.”

Patrick pulled out another shallow pan, lit a burner on the range, and threw some butter in the pan.

“So what made you change your mind about being a chef?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Patrick picked up two lamb chops and put them into the sizzling pan. “I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my mom growing up. Same with the garage. I liked both just fine, but kids always want to do something different than their parents, you know?”

David nodded. He knew that all too well.

Patrick wiped at the counter again and looked David in the eyes now. “I’m proud of my parents. They’ve worked hard at their jobs and they’ve given me a great life. But I wanted more. I still want more.” He moved back to the stove to flip the lamp chops over. 

“Your own restaurant. You said.”

“Yeah. It’s not just that though.” Patrick turned off the burner and moved the pan to the island with his towel and flicked it back to its spot on his shoulder with a snap. Then he began the delicate process of plating the food. “I like to cook. I’m good at it.”

“Humble too,” David interjected. But competence had always been a turn on for David, so it wasn’t like it he didn’t love Patrick’s confidence.

“Humble too,” Patrick agreed with a smile, eyes trained on the sauce he was now spooning over the lamb. “But I also found out that I love the business aspects of running a restaurant too. I like being in charge of things. I want to take just a germ of an idea and see it through to its end. Like you.” Now he looked up at David and gave him a knowing smile.

“So why a restaurant then? The success rate for new restaurants is notoriously low. It’s a cutthroat industry.”

“Because it’s not just an industry,” Patrick said, reaching for the vegetables. “Food is so much more than that. It’s about community, about nurturing, about comfort, about nourishment.” Patrick met David’s eyes again. ‘It’s about love.”

David felt himself blush. The kitchen was still too damn hot even with all the burners and oven turned off.

“Here—in America, in New York—eating out seems to be a means to an end. One stop before the next thing. But in France, the meal is the event. You break bread and drink wine and you connect with your family and friends and you fill your stomach and your heart. That’s what I want to create with my restaurant.”

Patrick wiped at the edge of the plates with his towel and then slid one in front of David.

“Seared lamb chop with a red wine reduction, garlic potatoes, caramelized shallots, roasted asparagus and carrots, and field greens. Bon appetit.”

It looked better than a piece of art, David thought. Smelled better than one too.

“This looks amazing,” David said honestly.

“I’ll get you more wine,” Patrick said with a nod toward the open bottle.

“Bring it to the table,” David said, picking up his plate. “Let’s eat over here.”

Patrick looked a little surprised at first, but then brought his own plate over and sat down at the table across from David. They ate and drank and joked and laughed and David could taste Patrick’s passion for everything: life, food, family. It was faintly intoxicating. How had the shy, quiet boy in too-big clothes who’d skulked around his family’s garage turn into this man?

When their plates were clean, Patrick gathered them up and took them to the sink and started to rinse them off.

“Thanks, Patrick. That was honestly one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten. Any chef would be lucky to have you work for them.”

Patrick looked at him squarely. “Thank you, David. That means a lot coming from you. I know you’re hard to please.”

“I’m not…” David stopped. “Okay, yes. That is true. But that was very impressive.”

“I’m not done yet,” Patrick said, shaking the water from his hands and drying them on his towel. “There’s still dessert.”

David tried and failed to hide his grin. “Yes, please.”

Patrick poured a dark mixture into two round ramekins and moved to the oven but he paused in front of it. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I forgot to turn the oven back on.”

“Is that bad?”

Patrick put the ramekins back on the counter, turned the oven to his desired temperature, and rubbed the back of his neck with a chagrined expression on his face. “I have a tendency to forget to turn on the oven when I’m distracted. It’ll just take a minute to preheat. These require exact temperatures and cooking time.”

David smiled back at Patrick’s sheepish face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I distract you?”

David meant it as a joke, but Patrick still looked a little bit embarrassed. “Yeah. Maybe a little bit. I always found you quite intimidating when we were younger. I still can’t quite believe I’m here...cooking for David Rose.”

“Why? Your mom has been cooking for our family for 20 years. I know you used to help her all the time.”

Patrick glanced over at the table where they had eaten their meal together. “That’s true. But she’s also never cooked for just you and she’s never been asked to share the meal with you either.”

That was unnervingly true. There was a clear separation between David and the Brewers. Always had been. There was Marcy in Rosebud Manor’s industrial size kitchen, removed from the dining room where the food was served. And there was Clint, in the front seat of an expensive automobile with the Roses in the back seat and a window in between.

The oven dinged when it was ready and Patrick slid the dishes inside and set the timer. Patrick moved back to the sink to finish washing the dishes—David realized belatedly that he should have offered to help since Patrick had cooked—and he surprised both of them when he grabbed a clean dish towel and began drying. They developed a good rhythm, Patrick handing David each clean dish and David drying it and putting it away while they kept up an easy conversation about Patrick’s favorite school courses, David’s expansion into original content for Interflix, and their parents. Alexis wasn’t mentioned.

When the oven dinged again, Patrick moved in his graceful way to take out the ramekins and plate the dessert while David watched, fascinated.

“What is this now?”

“Chocolate soufflé with crème fraîche and raspberries.” Patrick said proudly, handing David a fork with a challenging raised eyebrow. “I used to hate making soufflés, but I finally figured them out. It’s all about the egg whites...and remembering to turn on your oven.”

David took the fork silently. There was a satisfying crack as he pushed through the thick upper crust of the soaring chocolate cake. The soufflé was thick and gooey and mixed with the cream and fresh fruit, it was quite possibly one of the best things David had ever put in his mouth. And he had put a lot of things in his mouth over the years.

“Oh my god, Patrick. This is incredible.”

Patrick did blush now, his ears reddening quite suddenly in ways the heat from the oven had never achieved.

“Thank you, David.”

They finished their soufflés in comfortable silence and David thought he needed more evenings like this. Like their boat ride. David hadn’t looked at his phone in several hours, hadn’t fired off rounds of emails or answered angry texts or needed to complain to Stevie about anything. It was nice to just sit and talk and drink wine and eat amazing food without having to stress about what he was missing at work. Maybe Patrick was onto something there.

It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time Patrick packed up his bags and headed to the door with David right behind him to see him off.

“I’ll make some calls in the morning,” David said, tugging at the ends of his sweater, suddenly feeling uncomfortably awkward. “I imagine there will be several restaurants who would love to have you work for them.”

Patrick turned to face David, his back to the front door. “Thank you, David. I really do appreciate it.”

And maybe it was because it had been such a nice evening and maybe it had felt more like a date or maybe it was because they’d drunk a full bottle of wine, but David leaned in and kissed Patrick on the lips, just a soft brush of sauvignon stained lips against Patrick’s upturned mouth.

David pulled back slowly, the realization of what he had done coming to him with slow spreading horror. Patrick was just blinking at him, mouth slightly open.

David cleared his throat and tried for a casual voice. “Just think of that as a kiss from Alexis. It’s all in the family, after all.”

Patrick said nothing to that. Just nodded once and was gone.

***

Patrick tried to sneak quietly through the side door of the apartment and into his room without disturbing his parents who he hoped were already asleep but he was not so fortunate. Marcy and Clint were sitting in their matching armchairs in the little sitting room off the kitchen. 

“Hi, sweet boy,” Marcy said as Patrick tried to walk past them without drawing attention to himself.

“It’s past midnight,” Clint said equinamically.

“I’m 25,” Patrick responded. “I didn’t think I had a curfew anymore or parents who would sit up to wait for me to come home.”

Marcy laughed. “No curfew. Just got to talking like we do.”

Clint smiled at his wife and son. “Were you visiting Alexis?”

“Uh...actually I was with David tonight.”

His parents exchanged quick but noticeable glances.

Clint spoke first. “We didn’t realize you were on friendly terms with David, son.”

“I’m not really,” Patrick said with a laugh. “But he said he could help me get a job at a good restaurant. He’s got some useful contacts. I cooked dinner for him tonight, as a test.”

Marcy laughed. “The way to that boy’s good graces has always been through his stomach.”

“So I’ve discovered.” Patrick laughed and folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You’ve known David for a long time.”

Clint nodded slowly, eyes narrowed as if deep in thought. “How old was he when we came here, Marcy? Seven or eight or so?”

“About that,” she agreed.

Patrick tried to keep his voice even. “What was he like as a kid?”

Marcy and Clint exchanged looks again, a silent conversation happening between them in just a quick glance. Clint blew out a breath.

“Quiet. Never said much. Not like Alexis who would talk to anyone who came within 20 feet of her.”

“That was only after Adelina left though,” Marcy said. “Do you remember her? She was their nanny. David loved her. But she left when you and Alexis were probably 11 or 12, I think.”

Patrick exhaled, uncrossed his arms, squinting into his memories. “Oh yeah. I do remember her. Went home to Puerto Rico, was it?”

“That’s right. After Adelina left, David always just seemed….”

“Lonely,” Clint concluded.

Marcy nodded. “Lonely. Even when he went off to college, he’d still spend most weekends back here. He looked so skinny, so I would cook him meals to take with him back to his dorm.”

“I wonder why I never noticed that.”

“Well,” Clint said with a bemused shrug. “You only ever had eyes for Alexis.”

“I guess that’s true,” Patrick mused.

“You know, it was never Alexis we minded really. You know we love that girl, despite how much trouble seems to follow her. It’s more what it looks like to have the son of the cook and the chauffeur dating the wealthy daughter of their employers,” Marcy said.

Clint nodded. “The press and social media will congratulate Alexis for dating a regular guy like you. They’ll call it democratic. But democracy can be a wickedly unfair thing, Patrick. Nobody poor was ever called democratic for marrying somebody rich.”

“We just want to protect you, Patrick.” Marcy added quietly.

“I know you do.” Patrick rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “It’s late. I’m going to head to bed.” He gave his mom a kiss and his dad a quick shoulder squeeze and headed to his room. 

Patrick shut the door quietly and looked around at his room. It felt like nothing had changed in the five years he’d been gone and also that everything had changed. Life was full of possibilities he never could have imagined for himself. A promising career. Supportive parents. And Alexis finally, finally noticing him. 

Patrick changed into his pajamas. He brushed his teeth. He washed his face. He got into bed. And the whole time, he thought not about Alexis Rose but about her strikingly handsome, perpetually lonely, powerfully connected older brother. He thought about how David Rose’s mouth curved into the most perplexing angles when he smiled, and he thought about the way David’s eyes rolled back into his head in ecstasy when he took his first bite of soufflé, and he thought about the softness of David’s lips on his own. And then, right before he fell asleep, he thought about his first sip of red wine at that little winery outside of Orleans, the one he loved so much, and how it made his mouth sing and his tongue tingle and how it felt a little bit like that right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we please just agree to ignore the fact that the POV shifts mid-scene when Patrick is cooking for David? I just liked getting both their POVs for a bit and couldn't bring myself to edit one out like I should have done.


	5. and though I close my eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the shortest chapter of the bunch, but still one of my favorites. It also proves that I listened to _La Vie en Rose_ approximately 2,648 times while writing this fic. If you've never heard [Louis Armstrong's classic version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IJzYAda1wA) of _La Vie en Rose_ , you definitely need to listen. [This version by Daniela Andrade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ba_WoSZXvw) is an absolute gem as well.

Patrick had walked around the rest of the weekend feeling a bit like he was in a daze. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do after that dinner with David on Friday night except replay every conversation and every look they’d shared. It had basically been a job interview, hadn’t it? So it made no sense it felt like...something else entirely. 

David was just helping him find a job, because, well, Patrick wasn’t entirely sure what David’s motivations were. At first he’d thought David was trying to keep tabs on him and Alexis or at least find out what Patrick’s intentions were. Patrick had figured that’s what the whole boat ride was for, but they hadn’t really talked about Alexis at all. Then when David offered to help him with his job search, Patrick assumed David just wanted to make sure his family’s investment in his education had been worth it. But David had seemed to grow interested in getting to know Patrick for himself. It seemed like David enjoyed spending time with Patrick. And Patrick was surprised to discover that he liked spending time with David too. 

And then that kiss...well, Patrick wasn’t sure what to make of that. Probably best to just pretend it hadn’t happened.

Until Friday, Patrick had visited Alexis every day since he’d returned from Paris. He felt, in some small way, that he was responsible for Alexis’ accident and he wanted to make her recovery easier. He would help her hobble around because she hated using her crutches or cuddle with her on the couch while she flipped through TV channels. Sometimes they chatted about nothing in particular and once they’d played Monopoly together. Alexis was terrifyingly good at games of strategy, and Patrick had vowed never to do it again. 

Moira had taken pity on Alexis, though, and whisked her away for a weekend spa retreat, so he didn’t see Alexis again all weekend. Patrick hated to admit that he was glad for the excuse not to visit her because David had been good on his word. He’d texted Patrick contact information for three well-known chefs in the city. David had reached out to them already and they were willing to meet with Patrick about potential jobs at their restaurants. Patrick needed to focus and prepare, not obsess over the two Rose siblings or he’d be driven to distraction. 

By Monday evening, though, Patrick was itching to spend time with Alexis again. He missed her bright smile and easygoing chatter. She never challenged Patrick the way David did; he felt he could relax around her. 

“Patrick!” Alexis effused as soon as she saw Patrick walk into the large comfortable den where she had settled in for the evening. She was surrounded by glossy magazines and she quickly shut off the TV. Patrick caught a quick flash of Ted Mullens and some exotic creature before the screen went blank.

Patrick leaned over and kissed Alexis’ cheek in greeting and then settled onto the couch next to her, careful to not jostle her propped up foot.

“How did everything go last Friday?” she asked easily. Patrick didn’t think Alexis had any setting that wasn’t light, airy, and charming. He envied her that. She probably wouldn’t have been knocked over sideways by an unexpected kiss like him. 

But Patrick was going to keep that to himself.

“Good. It was...good. My food must have impressed David. He already sent me several contacts for jobs. I’ve got interviews set up all week.”

“I don’t know why he made you cook for him,” Alexis said. “David will literally eat garbage pizza out of the trash. I’ve seen him do it more than once.”

“That’s...wow. Good to know. He seemed to like the baked brie, so thanks for the insider knowledge about the cheese.”

“Anything for you, button,” Alexis said with a boop to Patrick’s nose. She paused and then clapped her hands together. “You should cook for me too!”

Patrick laughed. It was so easy to see why so many men fell under Alexis’ spell. Her face was an open book, flitting from one emotion to another with no effort to hide it. Not like David, Patrick thought, who wore an ill-fitting mask sometimes.

“Of course, Alexis. I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind if I took over her kitchen for a bit. What would you like me to make for you?”

Alexis looked skyward with a sigh, eyes rolling upwards as she thought. “Ooh, can you make a green smoothie that doesn’t taste so green?”

“Never really tried to make many smoothies before, honestly,” Patrick said with an uncomfortable laugh. Alexis was aware he was a trained chef and not a barista, right?

“No? What did this fancy school of yours teach you?” Alexis huffed. “What about a salad?”

Patrick nodded his head slowly. Cooking for David had been a lot more fun. “Sure. I can make you a salad.”

Alexis beamed. “You’re the best, Patrick.”

Patrick felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out. He had a text. Another text. From David Rose. His face felt a little hot, but he clicked open the message.

“Who or what is a Stevie?”

“Oh, that’s David’s assistant,” Alexis said, now examining her split ends without looking up at Patrick. “She basically runs David’s life. Dour little thing, but David seems to adore her. She’s probably his best friend. Which is a little sad for him.”

“Apparently, they were going to go to a Broadway show together on Saturday night but she had to cancel. He has reservations at Le Bernardin too and he wants to know if I’ll go with him.”

“Oh, the fish place?” Alexis wrinkled her nose slightly. “You should go! It’s supposed to be, like, the best restaurant in New York. Or something.” She paused as if remembering a crucial bit of information. “Maybe you could work there!”

“I don’t know, Alexis. Don’t you want me to keep you company?”

“Well, that’s silly, Patrick. You should go, not be stuck on this couch with me. Besides, David said he was going to help you find a job. This is him helping you. You want a job, right? I don’t know why it matters so much, but you make it seem like it’s important to you. ”

“Yes. Having a job is somewhat important to me,” Patrick said slowly. 

“I’ve never dated someone with a regular job before,” Alexis mused. “Normally they’re like actors or royalty or independently wealthy.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, wide-eyed. “I’m afraid I still need to work for a living.” 

“Well, then, go eat the food at the place with my brother. Networking is super important.” 

Patrick hesitated. It shouldn’t matter that the thought of spending another evening with David shot an electric tingle up his spine. Besides, Le Bernardin was one of the best French restaurants in America. Forget working there. Patrick just wanted to eat there. And this was a professional thing or a friend thing. Not a date or whatever.

“Well, if you’re okay with it.”

Alexis gave him a double blink which Patrick took as assent. He typed out a “yes” to David and hit send before he could overthink it. 

***

Le Bernardin had a wall of blue windows and low lights that glowed orange against the deeply recessed wood ceiling. It felt like eating your dinner on a coral reef under the sea. Patrick had always imagined something a bit more rustic for his own restaurant, but he couldn’t fault the aesthetics. Not when the food tasted like this. Patrick had eaten food created by some of the best chefs in Paris, but he had never eaten fish prepared the way Eric Ripert did it. Patrick dove back in for another bite, chewing thoughtfully as he went through a mental list of all the components in the sauce.

David had his wine glass halfway to his mouth when he smiled at Patrick and teased, “You may want to slow down a bit. You’re inhaling that trout.”

Patrick didn’t even look up. “I’m just trying to work out the flavors of this sauce. It’s miso and citrus, obviously, but there’s something else there that’s just really bright and delicious. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

David laughed, but Patrick didn’t even care. He wondered if their server would think less of him if he licked his plate clean like a dog. He was pretty sure David would understand. 

Patrick was so focused on his food that he didn’t even notice when a person stepped up to their table until he heard a richly accented French voice say, “David Rose, so nice to have you back tonight.”

“Thank you, Eric. The food is exquisite as always.” David shook hands with a gorgeously tall, tanned, and white haired man in a pristine white chef’s coat. Patrick tried not to stare.

Eric Ripert looked expectantly at Patrick. “And who is your guest tonight?”

Patrick reached for his napkin to wipe off his mouth and introduce himself but David beat him to it.

“This is my friend, Patrick Brewer. Patrick just finished his culinary arts degree at Le Cordon Bleu and he was just telling me how much he hates the sauce. Can’t stand it.”

Patrick nearly choked on his tongue. “I said no such thing. Mr. Ripert, your sauce is impeccable. _Délicieuse_.”

 _“Vous êtres très gentil.”_

_“Je n'ai jamais rien mangé de pareil.”_

Patrick and Eric continued their conversation in French for a few minutes before Eric clapped a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, handed him his card, and departed. Patrick looked back at David with round, wondrous eyes.

“Sounded like you two had a good chat,” David replied equanimously, digging his fork into the last bit of his salmon.

“He just invited me to come back sometime to meet his chefs and try some of the new dishes they’re developing. See how I like his kitchen. He gave me his card and told me to call him. Can you even believe that?”

“Look at you go,” David said with punctuated enthusiasm and the smile he gave Patrick was wide and genuine.

“David? How did….how did Eric Ripert just happen to know we were here?”

“The reservation is under my name, Patrick. I thought an aspiring chef and businessman would know you give personal treatment to important guests.”

“And are we important guests?” Patrick asked, tucking the card into his wallet carefully. 

“Well, my dad was one of the early investors of this restaurant. How do you think I always get a table when I want one?” David asked. “So….what do you think? Do we have time for dessert?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a trick question where you’re concerned.” Patrick laughed.

David’s eyes sparkled above his glass as he signaled for their server to bring them the dessert menu.

***

“Did you like the show?” David rubbed a finger over the lip of his martini glass. They were sitting together at the bar of an upscale lounge near the Imperial Theater and the deep reds and golds of the decor made it feel like they were still in 19th century Paris.

Patrick paused, whisky glass halfway to his mouth, and tilted his head before answering. “It was incredible, didn’t you think?”

David rested his head on his closed fist and smiled at Patrick. “I liked it, yes.” He’d liked spending the night with Patrick. It made him want to help him for real, not just for his own purposes. He actually wanted Patrick to succeed. 

Patrick sputtered a bit as he swallowed down his generous sip of burning liquor. “Oh come on. I saw you crying into your sweater when Éponine died.” 

David felt a tad affronted now. He didn’t like people seeing him get emotional. “Well, I’m not heartless!”

Patrick laughed, readying his glass for another sip. “It’s okay, David. Live theater always makes me cry too.”

David tucked his lips into his mouth and tried not to smile. “Well, then.” David took a long sip of his martini and pretended he didn’t notice Patrick staring. David didn’t mind, though. He liked the way Patrick looked at him, like he was seeing something intriguing and worth looking at. “What did you like to do in Paris when you weren’t cooking? Did you ever go to the Moulin Rouge?”

Patrick popped a peanut into his mouth and shook his head. “Sadly, there was not much time for cabaret and can-can dances in between my classes. It’s terribly touristy anyway. I did go once, my first year. Have you been?”

“No,” David paused and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I haven’t been to Paris since I was a child.”

Patrick nearly dropped his drink. “Wait what? How is that even possible?”

David drained the very last traces of gin and vermouth from his glass. He hoped that Patrick would forget his question, but that was clearly not going to happen given the wide puppy eyes trained on him now. David cleared his throat.

“I’m very busy, you see.”

“No one with your love of fashion and food would not go to Paris. What about Paris Fashion Week? You can’t tell me you don’t want to go to Paris Fashion Week!”

“I send my assistant every year. She knows my measurements and what I like.”

“Surely if you can spare your assistant for the week, you’re not too busy to go.”

“I have multiple assistants.” David shrugged and looked away.

“David, you have to go. You’ll come back a different person, I guarantee it. I did.”

David met Patrick’s eyes with a sharp look. “Do you want me to be a different person?” David wasn’t even sure what question he was really asking or what answer he wanted to hear. 

“No. No, of course not,” Patrick replied quickly. “You know that’s not what I mean. David, Paris is for changing your entire outlook. You need to go sometime in the spring. You want to be there when it rains, because that’s when Paris smells its sweetest.”

David nodded, but he didn’t say anything. Patrick went on.

“And then you need to find yourself a nice corner café and sit yourself in one of the outdoor wicker chairs. There’s hundreds of these cafés. Any one of them will do, but you must sit outside. If it’s morning, you order café au lait and a fresh croissant. If it’s evening, an espresso and jambon-beurre. And someone somewhere will be playing _La Vie en Rose_.”

David winced.

“Sure, it’s a little on the nose for you, but just go with me here. So someone is playing _La Vie en Rose._ Maybe they’re just singing it. Maybe they’re playing it on the violin or the accordion.”

“The accordion?” David’s face twisted in horror.

“A beautiful, misunderstood instrument!” Patrick declared rhapsodically. “So you’re sitting there, drinking your coffee, eating your weight in pastries and bread, listening to the dulcet tones of the accordion. And everywhere you look, you’ll see streets made of cobblestones and blue mansard roofs and there'll be trees lining the streets and flowers in every window box and you’ll feel a breeze blowing off the Seine. Well, you’ll smell it mostly. But that’s when you’ll feel it.”

“Feel what?”

Patrick smiled beatifically. “Absolute contentment.”

“That sounds lovely,” David said evenly.

“It is. God, I’d love to take you to Paris someday.” Patrick seemed to realize what he had just said and cleared his throat, yanking a finger at the neck of his collared shirt. Even in the darkened bar, David could tell Patrick was blushing. His whole body gave him away from his blazing cheeks to his climbing ears and darting eyes. David wished Patrick would look at him again, but he seemed determined to look anywhere but at David.

A silence descended between them. And now both their drinks were gone and there was nowhere left to hide.

“I’m afraid of flying,” David said, breaking the awkwardness. “That’s why I haven’t been to Paris. Why I haven’t really flown anywhere since I was a teenager.”

Patrick finally looked at David again. “But Alexis—”

David scoffed. “Alexis isn’t afraid of anything except last year’s trends.”

“But you’ve always been the one to rescue her,” Patrick said. 

“No,” David snorted wryly. “I’m the one who tracks her down. Most of the time, I send someone else to retrieve her.”

“But your family travels all the time.”

“Yes, and I don’t join them. I say that I’m working. They don’t ask questions. It’s just easier that way.” David had traveled a bit when he was younger and was less confident creating boundaries. He loved being other places, but his anxiety about traveling had only grown the busier he became and the more important he felt he was to the success of Interflix and the entire Rose Video empire. And now he was in a position to bring people to him and not have go to them. It was simple and effective. 

“And your assistant wouldn’t…”

“Oh no, Stevie has made it very clear I do not pay her enough to deal with my panic attacks 35,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean.” 

“I’m sorry, David. I didn’t know.” Patrick did look sorry, but not judgmental of David. Too many people had seemed to find David’s aversion to flying to be comical or a character flaw of some sort. 

“Yeah, well,” David shrugged, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him. “It’s a tad embarrassing. I don’t like all the people and the germs and the whole being trapped in a metal tube catapulting through the sky. I tend to freak out. No one wants to be that guy.”

“I don’t think it’s embarrassing.” Patrick said it like it was true and David was surprised to find that he believed him. 

“Even when I can charter a private plane whenever I want and have access to plenty of drugs to knock me out?”

Patrick’s eyes were impossibly soft. “Even then.”

David looked down at his empty glass. “Well, I’m too busy anyway.”

“If you say so.”

“Come on,” David said, the brush of his hand hot against Patrick’s leg. “I’ll drive us home.”

***

The car ride was quiet as David drove them toward Long Island. It had been a strange night, Patrick thought tiredly. His brain felt muddled and his insides wriggled uncomfortably as he watched the lights playing across the high cheekbones of David’s impassive, impossible face.

“I’m sorry you have to drive me all the way back to Rosebud Manor. I could have taken the train…or had my dad pick me up.”

David cracked a tiny smile but didn’t take his eyes off the clear road ahead of them. “No way would I let you ride the train home at this time of night and you know as well as I do that your father is already asleep. And I’m staying there tonight anyway. I occasionally do on Saturdays.”

“Oh, right,” Patrick said quietly. “For Sunday brunch.”

“Will you be joining us tomorrow?” David asked, and Patrick wished, for one fleeting moment, that David would look at him again. David looked away too much, kept his eyes from meeting Patrick’s too often. Still, his father would approve of David’s strict adherence to traffic laws and safe driving practices. That was something, at least.

“Yeah. Alexis invited me. Is that...is that all right?” How could it only be two weeks since he’d returned from Paris? So much had changed. So many unexpected things had happened. He never expected to have caught the interest of Alexis Rose. He never expected to be sitting in a car alone with David Rose. He never expected to be conflicted about which Rose sibling he wanted to spend more time with and what that said about him. About who he was. 

“Of course,” David said with casual indifference. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Patrick didn’t say anything to that.

As the silence stretched on, David switched on the radio. It was set to a classics satellite station. By some twist of fate, it was playing Louis Armstrong’s trumpety rendition of _La Vie en Rose,_ his gravelly voice rolling over the vowels and barely stopping for any consonants.

> _Hold me close and hold me fast_
> 
> _The magic spell you cast_
> 
> _This is la vie en rose_

“Oh. I think my dad was the last one to drive this car. I’ll just...” David moved to change the station, but Patrick stopped him with a light touch on the wrist.

“No. Leave it. It’s still a great song, even in English.”

> _When you kiss me heaven sighs_
> 
> _And though I close my eyes_
> 
> _I see la vie en rose_
> 
> _When you press me to your heart_
> 
> _I'm in a world apart_
> 
> _A world where roses bloom_

They were into Long Island now, pushing past Queens, the tall skyscrapers giving way to greenery and golf courses and rows of suburban homes. The car was whisper-quiet on the road and the music filled the whole space. It felt like it had nowhere else to go but straight into Patrick’s heart.

> _And when you speak_
> 
> _Angels sing from above_
> 
> _Everyday words seems_
> 
> _To turn into love song_
> 
> _Give your heart and soul to me_
> 
> _And life will always be la vie en rose_

On the last trumpet note, David turned the sound down. He still looked ahead as he turned off the highway onto Glen Cove Road.

“Suppose I did go to Paris one day,” David said quietly, hands tight on the steering wheel. “I suppose it would be helpful to know some French phrases, wouldn’t it?”

Patrick stared ahead too and forced himself not to look at David. “I suppose it would.”

“Okay, so how do you say ‘I want to buy this sweater’ in French?” David asked and Patrick could hear the smile in his voice.

“ _Je veux acheter ce pull_ ,” Patrick returned.

David repeated it softly to himself in a surprisingly decent accent. “What about, ‘I want a chocolate eclair, please’?”

“Starting with the important phrases first, I see,” Patrick laughed. “You say, ‘ _Je veux un éclair au chocolat, s'il vous plaît.'”_

David nodded along as Patrick spoke and repeated it back. Then, taking Patrick quite by surprise, he asked, “How do I say, ‘My sister has a handsome boyfriend’?”

Patrick felt unmoored by the sentence, but still answered in a quiet voice. “ _Le copain de ma soeur est très beau._ ” 

David pulled into the manor’s driveway, gliding down the tree-lined path. Patrick felt a certain sense of déjà vu and remembered riding in a different car with another Rose sibling just two weeks ago, feeling the same riotous clamor deep in his gut that he felt now.

David pursed his lips in a soft, pinched bow as if making a decision and then said, “And how do I say, ‘I wish I were my sister’?”

Patrick turned his head to look at David in astonishment as his stomach bottomed out. David guided the car to a stop and shifted into park and then he finally turned his eyes to meet Patrick’s. This time he didn’t look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translations not in text. Thanks again to High-Seas-Swan for help with all the French in this chapters and the chapters to come. ;) 
> 
> _Délicieuse_ \- Delicious. 
> 
> _Vous êtres très gentil._ \- You are very kind. 
> 
> _Je n'ai jamais rien mangé de pareil._ \- I've never eaten anything like it before.
> 
> I originally wrote David and Patrick attending _Moulin Rouge!_ together until I realized that show didn't open on Broadway until 2019 and this fic is supposed to be set in 2015. _Les Mis_ seemed a good alternative but I'm still sad to lose the thought of David and Patrick enjoying Aaron Tveit together.


	6. when you press me to your heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay with this chapter. I had an Emmy hangover and needed a day to recover from such a momentous night for our Schitt's Creek family. :)

Sunday brunch at Rosebud Manor was a weekly tradition of some standing for the Roses and whatever friends they invited to the meal. David couldn’t remember when they had started or even when he had started liking them, but he didn’t often miss them anymore.

The meal was always served in the morning room where the gargantuan east-facing windows lit up the whole room in an ethereal golden glow and provided spectacular views of the Roses’ outdoor gardens. It felt as close to eating outdoors while still being indoors as one could get. There were wide, low-slung armchairs and matching sofas staged around rough-hewn coffee tables where most people perched to eat from the breakfast buffet. David preferred to eat at the small table tucked in the corner because he didn’t trust himself not to drop anything on his pants. 

Alexis was already settled comfortably on one of the sofas, nibbling on the straw of her orange juice. Patrick was handing her a plate piled with scrambled egg whites and fruit.

“Oh no, Patrick,” Alexis fluttered her fingers at the proffered plate like she was afraid of touching it. “I don’t like cantaloupe. Could you be a dear and pick those out for me?” And then she blasted Patrick with her most winning smile. David didn’t hear Patrick’s answer—he didn’t really want to hear it anyway—but he still saw Patrick return to the buffet table with Alexis’ plate and unceremoniously scrape off the offending fruit. 

David didn’t want to think about last night. Actually, last night was all he wanted to think about, but he knew it was a foolish impulse. After parking his car, he’d kissed Patrick on both cheeks like they were French, bid him good night, and high-tailed it into the manor before Patrick had a chance to say anything. David had gotten caught up in the moment, beguiled by that damn song and the way Patrick sounded when he spoke French. That was all it was.

David didn’t want to admit that he enjoyed spending time with Patrick as much as he did. He didn’t want to admit that he really had fantasized about Patrick picking him over his sister, because he was an idiot apparently. David tried to remind himself that he’d only meant to keep Patrick occupied so he could shove Ted and Alexis closer to secure the contract but Stevie had been right. Ted wasn’t going to abandon Interflix if Alexis didn’t flirt with him. He was, rather shockingly, a really decent and loyal person. 

Ted and Patrick had that in common. 

They were also apparently both here, sitting on either side of Alexis, laughing and talking together like a trio of old friends. 

So that was new. 

Alexis seemed to be flirting shamelessly with both of them, but David couldn’t detect any signs of frustration or jealousy coming from either Ted or Patrick. Patrick stood up with his empty plate and went to the sideboard to refill. He saw David sitting alone—Stevie was late _again_ —and walked over to greet him. 

“Hi,” Patrick said.

“Hello.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?" Patrick asked and then realizing what he'd said, started to backtrack. "I mean, not that it’s any of my business how you slept. That’s personal. Forget I asked.” A faint blush crept up the side of Patrick’s neck. 

“I slept fine,” David answered, trying to school his face into something neutral and unconcerned about Patrick’s awkwardly flustered questions. It was adorably cute and David didn’t need him to know how adorably cute David thought he was. “How did you sleep, Patrick?”

“Fine, fine,” he repeated carefully. “Actually, I couldn’t sleep. Up all night just thinking.”

“Oh yeah? What were you thinking about?”

“You know. Stuff.”

“Oh, yes. Stuff.”

“Shut up,” Patrick said, tilting his head sheepishly to one side. His eyelashes were long against the pale skin of his cheeks and David had an instant flash of Patrick curled up, asleep in David’s bed. He shoved the thought aside.

Ted and Alexis were deep in their conversation and didn’t seem to be missing Patrick, but David was still surprised when Patrick pulled out one of the chairs at David’s table and sat down across from him.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Paris since last night.”

David looked at Patrick and tried to ignore the way the natural light made his eyes glow sweetly brown like syrup. “I’ve been thinking about Paris too.” David paused to take a sip of his coffee to hide his smile. “You obviously loved living there. Why come back here?”

“Well, here is home.” Patrick said with a shrug.

David raised a questioning eyebrow and waited for Patrick to continue.

“I wanted to see if I could make it here. It’s what I’ve always wanted. A successful restaurant in New York City.” Patrick took a sip of his own tea. “Plus, I really did miss my parents.”

David smiled over the lip of his mug. “Huh. I wonder what that must be like.” 

“David!” Alexis called, waving him over with insistent wrists. He groaned and tried to ignore her. “David, isn’t mom’s tortoiseshell footbath from the Galápagos Islands? Or am I thinking of Guatemala?”

David stole a quick glance at Ted’s expression of open-mouthed horror and leapt to his feet. 

“Excuse me, Patrick. I have to do some damage control, it would seem.” Which just made Patrick laugh. 

“Oh, Alexis,” David said. “I’m sure that’s a complete fake. Mom would never use an endangered animal’s carcass for her foot care.”

Alexis rolled her eyes. “Um. Have you met mom?”

David thanked God once again that Ted still seemed willing to sign a new contract. But maybe he should ask Stevie to work out an earlier date with all their lawyers before Ted had time to completely change his mind, just in case.

***

David excused himself to go to the bathroom after somewhat convincing Ted that all the Roses had a great admiration and respect for animals which left Patrick sitting alone at the small table, feeling a tiny bit stranded. But then David’s vacated seat was filled by a dark-haired woman he hadn’t even noticed before. She was slight of build and dressed in a far more casual manner than anyone else here, in jeans and a flannel shirt, radiating a certain kind of ‘don’t mess with me’ attitude. She was quite pretty, Patrick thought, and all the more terrifying for it.

“Um. Hi. We haven’t met. I’m Patrick.” He reached his hand over the table. 

“Oh, I know who you are,” she said, ignoring Patrick’s hand. 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows in expectation, but she didn’t seem inclined to give him more than that. He retracted his arm and wiped his rejected palm across his jeans. 

“Okay. Not getting a name then.” More silence. “Are you a friend of David’s or Alexis’?”

“David,” she replied readily. And then, with a wicked grin, “Most of the time anyway. Sometimes he doesn’t want to claim me.”

Patrick was starting to see why David might feel that way. Patrick wouldn’t mind enduring a mild maiming if it got him out of her clutches sooner. He was starting to sweat. 

“What about you?” she asked pointedly. “Which one do you claim? Alexis or David?”

Patrick blanched and started to stutter. 

“You should see your face,” she grinned, and then seemed to take pity on him. “I’m Stevie.” 

Patrick exhaled shakily. “Ah. The best friend slash assistant. I’ve heard about you.”

“Yes, well.” She spread her hands out magnanimously. 

If Stevie hadn’t canceled on him, David wouldn’t have invited Patrick to dinner or the show, so he felt a certain amount of goodwill for her. “I guess I have you to thank for last night,” Patrick said and tried not to blush again. His pale skin and easy flush had gotten him into trouble before. 

“Yeah, that’s not how it went down.”

“You didn’t bail on David last night because you had other plans?”

“Nope,” Stevie said with an acerbic shake of her head. “I spent the night in. No other plans.”

“Huh.”

She raised an eyebrow at Patrick. “Huh, indeed.”

The unspoken reality of the situation hung between them. David had used her as a ploy to see Patrick again. But why? Patrick wasn’t sure what Stevie’s angle was, but she was obviously in the mood to mess with David...and with Patrick, a perfect stranger. 

Stevie smiled wickedly. “He said you had a good time. In fact, he said you’ve had several good times the past two weeks.”

Patrick decided to ignore the implication of Stevie’s statement and steer the conversation back to safer ground. “I’ve had a good time too. I was always so intimidated by David as a teenager, you know? The intense wonderkid of the entertainment industry. But he's been really nice, actually, to help me network and find a good job.” 

“Yeah, that’s our David. Nice.” Stevie smirked. “Look, I know you grew up here and all that. But here’s a tip about the Roses. It’ll be easier for you if you pick a sibling.”

“Are you saying I can’t be friends with both?”

“Do you want to be friends with both….or more with one?” 

“Um.”

“Let me ask you the question again. Which one do you want to claim you: Alexis or David?” 

Patrick looked down at his hands. He didn't know what to say or how to respond; his feelings about Alexis and David were all a confusing muddle, and it was terrifying to think of having to explain himself to this tiny, scary woman. The silence stretched out, until he felt he was being rude and needed to say something. But when he looked up she had disappeared just as stealthily as she had appeared. He didn’t see her or David again. 

***

It was shaping up to be a long week. Patrick had scheduled his visit with Eric Ripert at Le Bernardin for Thursday and he was already vacillating wildly between being supremely confident and terrifyingly nervous about it. He had decided to overschedule every minute to not give into the desire to panic. During the first part of the week, he spent his mornings networking with other chefs, checking out different acclaimed restaurants for potential job openings, and touching base with the chefs he’d already been in contact with. He also—though he’d never admit this to anyone—had taken to wandering the streets of Manhattan in search of the perfect location for his future restaurant. He’d drop in to say ‘hello’ to Alexis in the late afternoon and chat with her for a bit before heading to the kitchens to help his mom prepare dinner because he missed the weight of a knife in his hand and the sound of oil sizzling in a hot pan. He categorically did not think about David Rose every second in between. 

He liked spending time with Alexis. He did. But he had to admit he was enjoying his time with her less and less; sometimes he even found himself growing irritated with her complaints about being laid up so long. He couldn’t blame her though. She’d never stayed in one place for so long and she seemed to be growing impatient to race off to some monarchical island nation or repressed Middle Eastern regime. Patrick thought he should feel offended by her fight or flight response but he’d never really been the jealous type. It didn’t even bother him when Ted started coming around more frequently. Patrick really liked Ted and found his fun animal facts and bad puns rather amusing. 

And Ted seemed to like Patrick just as much. He didn’t even really seem to consider Patrick a threat even though theoretically they were both interested in dating Alexis, and well. 

Maybe that wasn’t as true a statement as Patrick once thought it was. 

Which was frankly more than Patrick could really handle at the moment so he shoved that thought and Stevie’s irritatingly perceptive “David or Alexis” question as far down deep as he could and still be a functioning adult human. 

He thought he was doing an adequately serviceable job of appearing Totally Normal and Not Possibly Having an Existential Crisis when he walked into the library on Wednesday afternoon and found Ted and Alexis deep in conversation about Ted’s show. Alexis was explaining how Ted could better promote himself by upping his social media presence and then launched into several different marketing ideas for the new season. 

“Alexis, you’re amazing,” Ted exclaimed, all toothy white grin and upbeat positivity. 

Patrick was likewise impressed. “You should help me when I open my own restaurant. You know, whenever that happens.”

“Of course, Patrick!” Alexis smiled. “Maybe by then you’ll have perfected your green smoothie recipe because your first attempt was not very encouraging.” 

“Why don’t you do PR for Interflix, Alexis?” Patrick asked, leaning forward in his chair. “I mean on a more professional basis? You have a natural talent for this.” 

Alexis waved away Patrick’s compliment, but there was a hint of something maybe resigned about it. “Oh, well, David doesn’t really like me getting involved most of the time. And I never went to college for it or anything.”

“David can’t really stop you, can he, if you really pushed it? You own a stake in the company after all. Maybe this is one of those ‘act first, ask for permission later’ kind of situations,” Patrick suggested. 

Alexis’s response was a non-committal “ _mmm”._

“At least, that’s my dad’s trick when dealing with David,” Patrick continued. “He tells David when he’s going to show up and exactly how long he’ll wait before he’ll leave without him. When he did that, suddenly David stopped making my dad wait for hours because he lost track of time or got caught up at work.” 

Alexis’s eyes flared with delight. “What a smart man your dad is, Patrick.” 

Patrick shrugged, but thought Alexis was seriously considering what he’d said. She didn’t need to work, but maybe she’d discover that she liked having a job to do, a career that she was good at. Patrick was pretty sure Alexis could excel at anything she put her mind to. All the Roses were like that. 

“Well, I think you should do it!” Ted interjected encouragingly. “And not just because I’d be ‘bear’y excited to work with you.” 

“Oh, Ted, no,” Alexis said with a pointed shake of her head. “But thanks.” Her face softened into a genuine smile. 

Ted checked his watch and stood up. “I’ve got to head out or I’ll be late. I’ve got a date with a raccoon.” He stretched his arms over his head, exposing a small strip of very well-defined muscle, which both Alexis and Patrick couldn’t help but notice. He kissed Alexis on the cheek, clapped Patrick on the shoulder, and was gone. 

Alexis sighed and looked at Patrick with a smile. “I wish that was a euphemism or something, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.” 

They laughed together then, a bright, warm thing that crackled between them and suddenly, Patrick knew. Patrick knew he didn’t love Alexis. A little piece of him would always be fond of her for what she was to him for all those years but he wasn’t actually _in_ love with her. And he didn’t want to be. 

It’d been silent for an uncomfortable amount of time as Patrick silently freaked out. Alexis squinted her eyes at Patrick, as if reading his mind, and then blurted out: "You like my brother, don't you?"

"What are…where did...no, I can't...your brother? What?" Patrick felt like he’d just been dumped in a vat of cold water. 

"It's okay,” Alexis said a little too kindly.

"Alexis, I would never…" Patrick stammered.

"I'm not mad about it, Patrick. He may be a pain in the neck, but I do actually want good things for him. And I've seen the way he looks at you."

Patrick flushed hot and swallowed. "How does he look at me?"

"That depends. Do you like him?"

Patrick understood now why Alexis got along so well with despots and spies. She could coax confidential secrets out of J. Edgar Hoover. "Um...yeah. I think I do." Patrick groaned. "Oh god, I think I really, really do."

"Oh. Good. Because he's definitely into you.” Alexis smiled with all of the muscles in her face. It was blinding and reassuring. 

"You think?"

"Uh...yeah. He looks at you like you’re one of Drake’s turtlenecks.” Alexis exhaled loudly and clucked her tongue. “He's not going to make it easy, though."

“Why not? You just said he’s definitely into me.” 

"Okay, so the other day Ted was telling me about llamas and alpacas,” Alexis began. “I wasn't totally paying attention, but I’m pretty sure he said most people can't even tell the difference between them, but they're actually very different. Llamas are, like, mean and kick and bite and spit on you and their wool is scratchy and really hurts. But alpacas are super soft and sweet and gentle."

"Okay,” Patrick said. “What does that have to do with David?"

Alexis sighed as if it were obvious. "Because David acts like a snippy little llama. He’s going to try to kick you, but if you can actually get him to let you in, you’ll see that he’s just an insecure alpaca.”

Patrick blinked at Alexis. “Surprisingly, that makes a lot of sense.”

Alexis scrunched her nose in delight. Patrick still found her adorable even though he no longer wanted to kiss her. “I know, right?” 

Patrick leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes in misery. “So what do you think I should do?” 

Alexis shrugged. “You tell him how you feel.” 

That thought sent a wave of panic through him. “What if I’m still not totally sure how I feel about him?”

Alexis shoved Patrick’s arm. “Well, figure it out and then tell him.” 

“Just like that?”

“Well, Ted didn’t say if alpacas were very smart, so you may have to tell him a few times before he’ll believe you.” 

It was nice, the way he could talk to Alexis about this. All the affection and history they shared had laid the foundation for this new relationship, like the old one but different. It wasn’t born of romantic love or desire, as Patrick had once supposed, but was something more gentle, something innate. Like family. Patrick clapped his hands onto his thighs and stood up with a groan. He bent down to press a chaste kiss onto Alexis' cheek and headed to the door. 

On the way out, he knocked on the doorframe and turned around as the realization hit him. "Alexis, you like Ted, don't you?"

Alexis smiled softly and it was the realest she had ever looked to Patrick. "Yeah, I think I do."

"I'm glad. He seems like a good guy."

"You're a good guy too, Patrick. David deserves someone like you."

“Thanks, Alexis. For what it's worth, I think you deserve someone like Ted too."

She rolled her eyes with real affection. "Well, of course I do." 

***

Patrick didn’t go to the kitchens after that. He didn’t trust himself around sharp knives...or the prying eyes of his mother. Instead, he wandered the grounds of the manor. He hadn’t done that since he was a teenager, but the years hadn’t touched the place. There were still the same neatly trimmed flowers in their beds and the same perfectly manicured lawns. There were the tennis courts and the swimming pools, the pond full of iridescent orange and white koi fish, and the same rocky ledge dropping into miles of foamy sea. It was only Patrick who had changed. Or maybe finally discovered who he had always been. 

He wasn’t sure what was happening. What had already clearly happened or when he’d started to think of Alexis in the past tense and David in the present tense. Patrick didn’t know what that meant for him, for his future. All he knew was that somehow David was at the center of it. It had seemed so clear and easy when he was talking to Alexis about it, that he liked David, that he _wanted_ David. But how could he tell David that? Did Patrick even want to tell him that? 

He felt like a fool, really, for not figuring this out sooner. He _hated_ being wrong. And he’d been wrong about himself, which was even worse, so how was he to trust himself? He was spiraling. He could feel himself spiraling and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. So he just stared at the churning sea, felt the salty air blow across his face, and let himself think about David Rose.

***

The sun was slowly sliding out of view from the window in David’s skyscraper office on Thursday and darkness was beginning to blanket the city. 

Stevie stomped her way into his office. “I’m out of here.” She already had her messenger bag strapped across her chest and a very explicit expression that David shouldn’t contradict her. 

David waved her away distractedly, flipping through the projected revenue models and quarterly subscription numbers that had just been sent to him. He had been waiting to see them all day and he wouldn’t leave until he had pored over all of them. “Have a good night.” He didn’t look up. 

He was so focused that David didn’t even hear the sound of the door opening or the muted exchange of voices outside his office. He was surprised when Stevie appeared in his doorway again. 

“Uh. Patrick Brewer is here to see you.” 

David looked up then, perplexed. “Oh. That’s...that’s fine. Send him in.” 

He hadn’t seen Patrick since Sunday brunch. They’d texted back and forth a few times, about nothing very consequential, but David still always got a thrill when he saw Patrick’s name light up his screen. Patrick had texted him a few days ago to say that he was going back to Le Bernardin to meet with Eric Ripert. Patrick hadn’t known if it was a job interview or just a networking thing, but he was nervous. Maybe he was coming to celebrate. Maybe he was looking for Alexis. Because that’s who he’d want to celebrate with, if there was something worth celebrating. 

Before David could conjecture anymore, Patrick walked into his office, looking rumpled and out of sorts, carrying a white chef’s coat and his carrying case of knives.

“It’s okay, Stevie,” David said to her uncertain face poking in through the doorway. “You don’t have to stick around.”

Stevie pursed her lips and mouthed “Oh-kay" with skeptical eyes. David watched until she had left before he turned to Patrick. His hair was sticking up in adorable tufts, as if he’d been clenching and unclenching his hands around the short strands for hours. David stood up and walked around his desk to lean against it.

“Hi Patrick. My sister isn’t here.”

Patrick stepped further into David’s office and looked around quickly before meeting David’s gaze. “I’m not here for your sister.” 

David felt a sudden thud in his chest. “Then why are you here?”

Patrick opened his mouth and closed it. He sat down on David’s black leather sofa.

“I spent the day at Le Bernardin. I told you that was today. I ended up cooking with Eric Ripert and his chef de cuisine and sous chefs most of the day. Like I belonged there. No big deal.”

Patrick stood back up and started to pace the wide expanse of David’s office. David was grateful his office was so large. Patrick seemed to need room to burn off whatever was churning inside him. 

“He offered me a job,” Patrick's eyes flared bright as he glanced at David to gauge his reaction. “Just like that. You introduce us and bam, just like that, I get a job offer. Is that how it always works in your world?”

David was about to answer, say something about how that’s not how it works when that’s exactly how it works when you’re rich and influential, but Patrick cut him off before David could even open his mouth. 

“The whole time I just kept thinking about how I couldn’t wait to come here and tell you all about it. Not my parents or even Alexis. You. I didn’t even know where your offices were. I had to call my dad to tell me. That’s weird, right? My dad has driven you or your dad to this office building nearly every day of his life and I didn’t even know where it was. I’d never really cared before.”

Patrick paced and paced, hands on his hips, hands in his pockets. David tracked each movement with cautious eyes, taking in all the parts of Patrick, his straight nose, his flushed neck, his troubled mouth, his gentle eyes, until it formed the whole man.

“My dad thought it was weird,” Patrick continued, picking up speed. “Not that I didn’t know where your office was. That I wanted to see you. He told me I shouldn’t bother you. I talked myself out of coming here five different times. I’m apparently not very convincing even to myself. So you’re probably wondering why I’m here. That’s a good question.” 

Patrick stopped his pacing to look directly at David. “Did you know that you are irritatingly attractive? Like Alexis is beautiful, everyone can see that, but you’re something else entirely. It’s extraordinarily distracting.”

“I’m sorry?” David ventured. Patrick didn’t seem to hear him. The pacing started again. 

“And all today, I’m cooking probably the most important food of my life and I can’t stop thinking about you. And I thought about how much fun I have talking to you and how I love the way your mouth does that twisty thing when you’re trying not to smile and the way you looked when you ate my food like you’d never tasted anything better.” Patrick’s voice took on a lower timbre now, but David didn’t have to strain to hear any word he said. 

“And I also thought about how I sometimes hope you’ll touch me, maybe on accident, maybe on purpose, and how I never really thought the same thing about Alexis because it turns out Alexis isn’t the Rose I want.” Patrick’s voice cracked and he looked at David desperately. “So I spent most of the evening just walking through the city, wondering if I’ve been so wrong about this, what else have I been wrong about?”

Patrick’s legs seemed to give out beneath him and he dropped onto the couch, head cradled in his hands. His chest heaved with the effort of saying so much with so little air. When he looked back up at David, he looked wrecked. 

David exhaled and tried to smile reassuringly at Patrick. His hands were still digging into his desk in a death grip. He didn’t trust himself to let go just yet. Even though all he wanted to do was rush to Patrick’s side. “That’s a lot of emotions to have in one day.”

Patrick laughed wetly and looked down at his hands. “Yeah.”

“What do you mean about being wrong? What were you wrong about?”

“About being straight,” Patrick said and winced. “I’ve never had feelings for a man before.”

“Surprisingly, I was able to piece that together. So you’ve never been with a…?”

“With a man? No, never. I...well. Not yet.” 

“Okay. Well, that’s good. Right? That you’ve realized.” 

“I just...isn’t this something you’re supposed to figure out about yourself at, like, puberty?”

David was cool as a cucumber in board meetings or dealing with intransigent shareholders. But this was definitely outside his wheelhouse, but he wanted to do this right, for Patrick. “It’s different for everyone.”

“Do I even want to be a chef?” Patrick sucked in air through his teeth and kneaded his hands together. “Maybe I’ve been wrong about every choice I’ve made. My parents wanted me to be an accountant. Maybe I should do that. I could be a sexually confused accountant.” 

David wanted to laugh at Patrick. He wanted to hug him. He wanted to _kiss_ him. Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest and stared at him, willing himself to say the right thing. 

“Patrick, no.” 

“What?” 

“You don’t want to be an accountant.”

“Why not? It’s a very respectable job.” 

David lost his willpower and came to sit on the couch next to Patrick. Their arms brushed against each other. “Patrick, being wrong about one thing in your life doesn’t mean you were wrong about everything.”

Patrick looked up at him and licked his lips. “How can you be sure?”

“Because I ate the meal you created from nothing and it was magical,” David said. “I heard the way you talked about food and I believed every word you said. You have ambition, drive, talent, passion. That’s not something you can fake. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

David ran a hand across his forehead and went on. “You weren’t wrong about yourself, Patrick. It was just a part of yourself that you hadn’t discovered yet. I’m still discovering all sorts of new things all the time.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Patrick said, voice low and thick. 

David stared at his hands. “Like how much I want to touch you on accident all the time too.”

“Really?” Patrick asked as his head tilted toward David’s. 

“Really really.”

David took Patrick’s face into his hands then. He pressed his mouth onto Patrick’s lips on purpose and it was like discovering a whole new world within himself. 

***

Patrick hadn’t known what he was going to say to David before he said it. He only knew that he’d burst apart if he didn’t say something and soon. He probably shouldn’t have stormed into David’s office and demanded—okay, more like politely asked—that Stevie let him through. He probably should have taken David out to dinner or offered to cook for him again and then carefully directed the discussion into a declaration of his feelings, calm and rational with no signs of panic at all. 

But right now, at this moment, Patrick didn’t regret a thing. It didn’t matter that he’d been wrong about himself for so long or that he’d focused on the wrong Rose sibling for all those years. 

Because now he was kissing David Rose.

And Patrick’s heart was already reaching for the moon, the stupid fool.


	7. hold me close and hold me fast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wants to watch the 1954 version of _Sabrina_ with Audrey Hepburn, I just discovered that you can watch it for free (with ads) at [crackle.com.](https://www.crackle.com/watch/6213) I'm not sure if there are any country restrictions though.

For someone who had everything he ever needed, David often felt like he never got what he really wanted. He wanted what Alexis had, the unrelenting confidence to be exactly who she was. He wanted the kind of relationship his parents had, long-term partners who gave and received undiminishing support. He’d been so certain those were things he’d never have. And he’d tried to convince himself he was content because he had so many other things. 

But here, kissing Patrick, all those things felt possible for the first time. 

David pulled back from the kiss and admired the length of Patrick’s lashes and the flush of his cheeks before Patrick opened his eyes to look at David. His lips were parted and soft, waiting for more. 

“You want me?” David asked him, and he felt his chest flare with fire within. 

“Yes.” Patrick looked desperately young.

“Not Alexis?” David asked because some things required repetition to be believed. 

“Yes,” Patrick repeated with more conviction. 

David smiled. “Okay. Just checking.” And then he was kissing Patrick again. He could feel the frenzied beat of Patrick’s heart under his hands and the breathless, almost awed way that Patrick kissed him. No one had ever kissed David like that. 

“Wait,” David broke off the kiss again to Patrick’s consternation. “Does Alexis know?” 

Patrick smiled at him and God, his smile. “Yeah, she knows.” Patrick traced the bones of David’s wrist while a soft, hidden smile tugged at his lips. “She...um...figured it out on her own. I guess we were both pretty obvious.” 

“Beg your pardon. I have an exceptional poker face.” 

Patrick laughed. “Of course you do, David. In any case, I’m not sure I would have gotten up the courage to do anything about it if Alexis hadn’t cornered me yesterday. Well, her and Stevie.”

“What?” David screeched. “When did Stevie do that?”

“Sunday brunch.” 

“Those women…” David started to grumble. Patrick just smiled and pressed another kiss onto David’s lips. 

“Let’s not vilify those women just yet. We owe them something.” 

David nodded begrudgingly and then grimaced. “We can never let them know that.” 

David didn’t want to push Patrick too far or too fast, but looking at him, so open-hearted and brave, his lips still bearing the imprint of David’s teeth, David couldn’t bear the thought of letting Patrick go anytime soon. 

“I don’t want to presume anything or move any faster than you feel comfortable, Patrick, but do you want to come home with me tonight? We don’t have to do anything. I do have a guest room if you’d rather sleep by yourself, but come home with me?”

Patrick sighed, “Oh, David.”

David started to shake his head, hedging off a negative response. He’d pushed this too fast, too soon. “I can just take you back to the Rosebud too, of course. Obviously. Let’s just do that. That’s better, right?”

“No, David. I want to come home...with you. If that invitation is still open.” 

“Yeah. Yes.”

“I...I do think I need to go slow, if that’s okay. But yeah, I don’t want to say good night just yet.” 

The view from David’s office window had turned black but the lights of the city glimmered below them. And it had never looked so beautiful, the city that never sleeps. It had never felt more full of possibility than it did that night with Patrick’s hand in his.

*** 

“Are you hungry?” David asked as he flipped on the lights of his apartment and threw his mail on the entryway table. “I’m suddenly starving. I can order us something.” He already had his phone out, scrolling through nearby options. 

“Don’t be silly,” Patrick said. “I can make us something.” 

David tried to hide his grin into the side of his cheek. “You really don’t have to, Patrick. I’m not even sure if I have anything edible in the house anyway.” 

“I don’t mind,” Patrick insisted. “I like cooking for you.” 

Patrick knew it was true as soon as he said it. He loved cooking for someone who appreciated food the way David did. But when he opened up the refrigerator, he thought he would have to amend his offer. David wasn’t kidding about there not being a lot of edible food in here. Just a few containers of leftover take-out, a tub of half eaten store bought chocolate frosting (he’d have to tease David about that later), a quart of organic milk, and a carton of eggs. 

“Do you have any bread?” Patrick poked his head out from around the refrigerator door to look at David, the eggs in hand. 

“Um, yes? I should in that cupboard,” David pointed to the small pantry next to the refrigerator. “Stevie orders me groceries every week because she says well-adjusted adults have actual food in their homes. But I’ve seen what’s in hers and it’s basically just vodka and hard boiled eggs so I don’t know where she gets off lecturing me.” 

Patrick laughed as he found the bread, a loaf of hearty whole wheat that Patrick was sure David threw out unopened every month once it started to grow moldy. He grabbed a bowl from the floating shelf next to the gas range and a whisk from the drawer next to the dishwasher. He liked that he already knew David’s kitchen. He’d probably reorganize it to suit his needs eventually if David didn’t mind, which he knew David wouldn’t. Patrick hoped he’d do a lot more cooking here and the thought excited him. It really was a nice kitchen. David coming with it was an added bonus. 

“Lucky for you, we spent a whole semester on eggs.” Patrick said. “You’d be amazed what I can make with just eggs. Here, look at this.” Patrick cracked an egg over the lip of a bowl one-handed. It split neatly in half and the intact yolk and egg whites slid into the bowl without Patrick even having to pry the rest of the shell open. “I learned that at my fancy cooking school. It’s all in the wrist.”

“That’s very impressive,” David said. “I don’t think I could crack an egg with two hands.” 

“I’ll give you a lesson sometime,” Patrick replied with a wink as he whisked the eggs together. “Speaking of Stevie, how did you two meet? She’s certainly very protective of you, more than I’d expect for an assistant.” 

David hooked his chin over Patrick’s shoulder to watch Patrick melt a thick chunk of butter in the pan. “We met at NYU, in a business math class if you can believe it. She was the slacker stoner and I was the rich entitled asshole. By the end of the semester, we had discovered that we didn’t take any shit from each other so I offered her a job.” 

Patrick buried his nose in David’s cheek. He liked the way David smelled and how David’s stubble scratched against his skin. “It must be nice to have a friend like that.”

“Sometimes,” David said, unlatching himself from Patrick’s shoulder and reaching into the cupboard to pull out some plates. “She’s still a pain in my ass most of the time.” 

When the eggs were done and plated, they sat side-by-side on the stools at the kitchen island, their knees knocking together and their ankles and feet wrapping around each other’s. Patrick tried not to just stare at David’s lips or look too eager to get back to kissing him. 

David sank his teeth into a bite of egg and groaned in pleasure. “So somewhere in tonight’s monologue, I believe you said something about Eric Ripert offering you a job?”

Patrick hesitated. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and took a drink. “Yes. Just as a _poissonnier,_ but still. It’s something.” 

Patrick didn’t want to sound ungrateful because he wasn’t, not really. Any aspiring chef would kill to work at Le Bernardin and really, he was being a jerk for not accepting at once. Instead, he’d asked Eric if he could have a little time to think about it. He had other offers on the table, he’d said. Which of course he didn’t, not yet, but it sounded better. 

“That sounds dangerous.” 

Patrick smiled weakly. “A _poissonnier_ is the chef who prepares and cooks the seafood in a restaurant. Mr. Ripert runs a brigade kitchen, like most French restaurants do. All the junior chefs specialize in a certain area. There’s someone who makes the sauces or someone who specializes in meat or someone who just works with the vegetables. In some kitchens, they specialize based on the cooking method—grilling, frying, roasting, that sort of thing. Mr. Ripert has all his chefs rotate, but starting as a _poissonnier_ is a great compliment, especially in a restaurant that specializes in seafood.”

“But?” David pressed gently. 

“But I could work as a station chef for a long time before advancing at Le Bernardin. And it would take years before I’d have the contacts and capital and exposure to become an executive chef or even open my own restaurant.”

“And you want a faster timeline?”

Patrick dropped his napkin on his empty plate and pushed it away from him. “I’m not afraid of working hard and a chef has to pay his dues and all that, but yeah. I kinda hoped I’d defy the odds and get there sooner. It’s not a set back,” Patrick admitted. “Just a reality check.”

David was silent for a while, his look seemed to be far away and considering. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant but assured. “You know, I happen to be very wealthy and am always looking for opportunities to diversify my portfolio. I could invest—”

“No, David,” Patrick interrupted quickly. “No, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I owe your family so much already. Your parents paid for culinary school and my apartment in Paris! Without them, I probably would have gone to SUNY and be working at an Applebee’s right now. I want to do this on my own. I need to try, at least.” Patrick paused, searching David’s face for any trace of offense. “I do really appreciate the offer, though.” 

“Okay,” David said quietly. “The eggs were delicious. Thank you, Patrick.”

“Anytime,” Patrick smiled softly and stood to take the plates to the sink. 

“Just leave them. It’s late. We should go to bed.”

Patrick felt a spark shoot up his spine at David’s suggestion and turned around to look at him, face feeling hot and flushed. 

“For sleeping!” David amended quickly. “Not for the...just for sleeping. Or I can show you the guest room...”

Patrick shook his head at David’s own flustered response and stepped into his space, feeling equal parts terrified and confident. His hands found their way to David’s hips and he pulled David close while his lips found their way to David’s mouth. And David responded so readily, his body arching down to curve around Patrick, his hands floating to Patrick’s shoulders in a light, tentative touch. 

“Let’s go to bed, David,” Patrick whispered against David’s lips. “For the sleeping.”

David huffed a laugh against Patrick’s neck and then took Patrick’s hand in his to lead him down the corridor to the bedrooms. They didn’t say much, but let their hands do the talking. A stroke of the cheek here, a gentle tug there, a squeeze of the hand. David found a spare set of pajamas—his most basic pair of cotton pants and a white T-shirt—to hand to Patrick before pointing him toward the guest bathroom with a promise that he’d try to speed up his nightly skincare routine. 

Patrick changed into David’s pajamas—a little long but so soft to the touch—and found an unused toothbrush and a travel size tube of toothpaste exactly where David had said he would. He brushed each and every tooth with exacting strokes and then his tongue too for good measure. He splashed tepid water on his face just for something to do. Patrick was nervous. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time, but his hands trembled ever so slightly as he cupped his hands to catch the water. 

Even if they really did just sleep together in the same bed, it would still be the first time that Patrick would do that with a man. He was glad he was going to do this with David. They hadn’t really talked about all those years they had known each other, about how they’d grown up in the same place. They had a shared history, a common vernacular, even if they were only just comparing notes now. And that had to count for something, Patrick thought. It made it less scary.

David was still in the en suite bathroom when Patrick finally worked up the nerve to go back to David’s bedroom. He set his phone and wallet on the nightstand closest to the door and folded up his clothes and set them on the chair in the corner. He stared at the king sized bed with its monstrous pile of pillows and debated his options. What if David had some special combination of pillows he slept with? What if there was some rich person way to remove said pillows from the bed when not needed? 

When David emerged from the bathroom some 20 minutes later, Patrick was perched on the end of the bed, scrolling on his phone, and no pillows had been touched. 

“Oh good,” David said with a smile. “You’ve chosen to be murdered first. Very brave of you, Patrick.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Patrick asked, putting down his phone. 

“The side of the bed closest to the door. If there’s an intruder, you’ll be the first victim. Alexis and I always used to fight over who had to sleep closest to the door whenever we had to share a hotel room as kids.” David shuddered over the memory. 

“I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense,” Patrick said with a laugh. “I don’t mind, either way. It just looked like you typically sleep on the other side.” 

“Yes, I do.” David plugged his phone into the charger on the opposite side of the bed from Patrick and started tossing the pillows onto the floor with careless ease. So no secret super rich person pillow stacking. Patrick tossed the pillows off his side of the bed and folded down the sheets when David did. 

They smiled awkwardly at each other and then climbed into the bed at the same time. Patrick tried to act natural, but, well, David was unspeakably beautiful in the clothes he armored himself in during the day. But here, looking soft and rumpled and so endearingly comfortable, Patrick had no words to describe him except to think that David finally looked like himself. It made Patrick’s heart skip a beat. 

Patrick couldn’t help himself. He put a hand on David’s shoulder and leaned forward to give him one perfectly breathless kiss. David’s eyes opened slowly, as if expecting more. 

When he spoke, David’s voice was low and irresistible. “So, do you want to be the little spoon or the big spoon?” 

“Oh,” Patrick said, a little surprised. “Huh. I’ve always been the big spoon. With women, it always just seemed to be the way it should be done.”

“Well,” David said with that private little smile Patrick was starting to think was just for him. “We can do whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“Can I…,” Patrick started and then paused, debating if he could ask for what he really wanted. He’d already gotten so much more than he ever anticipated when he came out to David and then confessed his feelings for him. “Could I be the little spoon tonight?”

David’s eyes were warm and understanding. “Of course.” 

David clicked off the bedside lamp and fluffed up his pillow and got the position just right before he laid down. He pulled Patrick toward him with sure and gentle hands, lining the ladder of Patrick’s spine to the center of his own chest, legs tangling together at the knees and the ankles and the arches of their feet. One open palmed hand came to rest over Patrick’s rabbiting heart. 

“Is this okay?” David whispered from right behind Patrick’s ear. 

“Yeah,” Patrick stuttered back, sinking into David’s embrace with a sigh. “It feels nice.”

David’s lips brushed across the back of Patrick’s neck, so soft as to almost be imagined. “Nice is good,” he said.

And it was. 

***

Patrick was generally an early riser but he slept later than usual cocooned in the warm embrace of David’s arms. He made David breakfast while he got ready for work—more eggs since David didn’t even have flour in his kitchen and there was literally nothing else there—and kissed him good-bye with a promise to see him that night. 

He wandered Manhattan in yesterday’s clothes marveling at the way the world looked exactly the same even though everything had changed. He descended underground and rode the train back to Long Island. Patrick had always loved the stop and go rhythm of the subway and watching all the people who came and went at every station. 

By the time Patrick reached the Brewer’s apartment above the garage, he was starving and ready for a shower. He hadn’t expected his parents to be home, but he ran right into them, eating a late breakfast together at the kitchen table. His parents had never seemed to grow tired of each other. Patrick thought maybe he understood how that could be now. He couldn’t imagine being anything but enthralled by David. 

“Well,” said Clint with a sparkle in his eye. “Looks like we caught someone doing the walk of shame this morning.” 

Marcy tried to hide her responding smile behind her hand. Patrick felt himself go red and hot all over his whole body. 

“I’m not doing a walk of shame,” he claimed, reaching for a bottle of water from the fridge. 

"Oh, son,” Clint smiled knowingly. “You were wearing those clothes when I drove you into the city yesterday. Did you meet Alexis somewhere after your job interview?”

“Oh yes,” Marcy cried. “How’d that go?” 

“Good,” Patrick said. He tried to take a sip of water but his throat seemed to have forgotten how to swallow. Water dribbled down his chin instead. “Good. Mr. Ripert offered me a job.” 

“Oh, that’s marvelous!” Marcy declared. “Such a fancy restaurant too.” 

“I’m not sure I’m going to take the job,” Patrick said quickly. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“That’s smart,” Clint responded sagely. “Need to weigh your options.” 

Marcy nodded. “What did Alexis say when you told her?”

Patrick looked at both his parents, with their wide, innocent eyes and happy faces trained on him. 

“I wasn’t with Alexis,” he blurted out. He could feel all the color drain from his face, but he’d had the courage to tell David how he felt last night. He owed his parents this for everything they had sacrificed for him. They were good people, his parents, the best people. It wouldn’t change everything to tell them this truth about himself. They’d still love him, right? They’d still treat him the same, wouldn’t they? 

Patrick pulled out the chair opposite his parents and sat down. 

“I’ve been realizing some things about myself lately, some things that I probably need to tell you,” Patrick started. His parents still wore matching wide-eyed expressions but his mother was smiling encouragingly at him. Patrick clasped his hands together, worrying his palm with his thumb, round and round and round, until his whole hand burned with the pain of it. 

“I’ve been spending time with Alexis, as you know, but I’ve also been getting to know David too.” 

Patrick remembered the feel of David’s lips on his just that morning, the squeeze of his hand right before he disappeared through the door, the quirk of his lips as he smiled at Patrick’s bedhead when they woke up still wrapped up in each other’s arms. He smiled at his hands and then forced himself to lift his head and look his parents in the eye. “I wasn’t with Alexis last night. I was with David.”

Marcy’s smile flickered just a bit. It really shouldn’t have been noticeable, but Patrick knew his mother’s face too well. He tried not to let his stomach plummet out the bottom of the chair. He was glad to be sitting down. 

“What are you saying, Patrick?” Clint urged, but his voice was gentle and his eyes still kind as they gazed patiently at his son. 

“I’m saying that…” Patrick choked back a rising sob and cleared his throat. “I’m saying that I don’t want to date Alexis. I want to date David, and I think he wants to date me too. I’m saying that...I’m gay. And I hope you guys can accept that.”

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Marcy sighed. 

Patrick forged on. “I know you both think I shouldn’t get involved with the Roses and maybe you’re right; we come from different worlds even though we grew up together and you’re right that it probably won’t work out in the end. But David makes me feel things I never realized I could feel.”

His parents exchanged quick glances and then his mother reached out for his hand. “Patrick, all we have ever wanted is for you to be happy. And if David makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.” 

“Dad?” Patrick's eyes felt wet. 

“You’re my son,” he said, eyes glistening. “I’ll always be proud of you.” 

Patrick felt the tension release out of his body all at once and squeezed his mother's hand. 

“Thank you,” Patrick whispered. 

“Maybe now I can finally figure out the clothes David wears,” Clint joked with a wet laugh and Patrick knew it was going to be okay. He might not have been born to money or privilege the way David had been, but he knew his parents loved him no matter what. It made him feel like the richest man in all of Long Island. 

***

David had spent the morning in back-to-back meetings and now had 30 minutes until his next meeting in which to return three phone calls and somehow squeeze in a bite of lunch. But all those plans were shot to hell when Moira Rose sauntered into his office wearing a graphic black and white DSquared suit and Balenciaga booties. 

“What are you doing here?” David asked, trying to keep his irritation in check, even though all hope of eating anything before 5pm had now disappeared.

Moira raised her arms expansively. “Can a mother not visit her dearest child without revivifying the Spanish Inquisition?”

“You don’t ever just come to ‘visit’,” David air quoted, “so let’s fast forward over the chit chat and cut to the chase. What do you want?” 

“My, my,” Moira tutted, but David couldn’t tell if her tone was approving or reproving. His mother always had a way of discombobulating him. But David stood his ground, examining his mother with an impassive face until Moira finally conceded. She settled herself into the chair in front of David’s desk and tucked her crocodile bag under her feet. “I want to see the quarterly report.”

“Shareholders will see it when it’s released next week.” 

Moira gave him a cool, flinty look. 

“Oh, fine.” David dug the report out from his pile of papers and tossed them in front of Moira. “Those are just the preliminary projections. I trust I don’t need to remind you that that information is confidential.” 

Moira responded with another withering look. Johnny may have been the businessman in their relationship, but Moira had always been the shark. She turned her shrewd eyes to the spreadsheet and David knew she was quickly coming to the same conclusions he had. 

“Subscriptions are declining.” 

“We expected to hit a plateau,” David said, trying to appear nonchalant and unconcerned even though he had momentarily panicked when he first saw the numbers himself. “We think a new slate of original content will help drive new sign-ups. We have several projects in the works and are rushing production on some of them.” 

Moira’s head snapped up at that. “I’ve offered before but I’ll offer again. I remain ready and willing should you wish to greenlight a _Sunrise Bay_ reboot. My fans would flock to Interflix to see me don the persona of Vivian Blake once more.” 

“And I’ve told you before that we’re not that desperate yet.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Moira predicted ominously and then returned to the report, eager eyes consuming its numbers. “The revenue projections are still adequate, I see.”

“I’ve been doing this for almost a decade, mother. I know what I’m doing.”

Moira merely hummed in response. “So you’ve locked up the negotiations with Mr. Mullens? I do believe you promised you were taking care of Alexis’ ill-timed assignation with the Brewer boy.”

“I said I would handle it and I did.” David had no intention of discussing Patrick any further with his mother. 

“By compelling him to transfer his affection to you?” Moira asked with a smug head tilt.

“Where did you hear that?” David asked. He couldn’t help himself. It was still so new, him and Patrick, and he had wanted to keep it to himself for a little bit. 

“Oh, the servants love their canards, my dear,” Moira said airly. “Terrible gossips, all of them, especially when it involves one of their own.” 

“I see.” 

“It made for a rather awkward drive into the city with Clint today. He is always the consummate professional, but still. I shouldn’t have to walk around on eggshells among my own staff, David.”

“Please,” David said with a roll of his eyes. “You thrive on making other people feel awkward.”

“Yes, but _I’d_ never dream of feeling that way.” Moira threw the report back onto David’s desk. “It’s rather unbecoming.” 

“I’m sorry if my relationship with Patrick made you have to feel actual emotions, mom.” 

“So it is a relationship then?" Moira asked, pouncing on David’s choice of words. "Is it personal or simply business?” 

“I don’t really want to discuss this with you.”

“Personal, then.” Moira’s eyes softened as she regarded David. She got like this sometimes, when some infinitesimal scrap of maternal instinct seemed to kick in. It generally meant imparting some outlandish piece of uncomfortably personal advice on her unwilling children and them promptly trying to scrub it from their brains with a stiff drink afterwards. 

“Your father and I have let you take on too much,” she said with a twinge of sad reflection. “But that’s our cross to bear. I do hope this liaison will prove more fruitful than your past relationships. It’s just been one bungle after another, as far as I can tell.” 

“It’s just been a long string of bad luck, is all.” David responded. “It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Goldie Hawn once told me ‘You are the life you accept for yourself.’ Or maybe her yoga instructor told her that. In any case, I’ve never forgotten it. You don’t need to accept constant failure in your amorous relationships. Maybe something for you to contemplate.”

“Will do,” David said. If he could get Moira out of here now, he’d still have 10 minutes before his next meeting. Maybe he could still eat one of those weird protein bars Stevie liked to buy. Stevie kept a stash of snacks for him in the kitchenette. He started to rise out of his seat so he could usher his mother out of here. “Thanks ever so much.” 

“What your father and I have is very rare,” Moira continued, unhurried. She clearly had no intention of budging from her seat. “We still have a passionate connection these many years later.” 

“Ew.” David sat back down. All dreams of even making it to his next meeting on time disappeared with the wistful look now overtaking Moira’s face. 

“Don’t you desire the same with your young chef?” 

Did he? David had had lots of good beginnings to relationships where he’d let himself get his hopes up that maybe this time it would work out, at least a little longer than usual. But the good beginnings only led to bad endings. It did feel different with Patrick, though, despite the way they’d begun. Because David did like Patrick, _really_ like him, and David did want to be with him, _really_ be with him. And sometimes David could see a month with Patrick turning into two, and two turning into three, and then three turning into a year, and on and on and on, until the years didn’t matter anymore, until the only measurement that existed anymore was a lifetime. 

David grew uncomfortable under the perceptive gaze of his mother. “So what’s the secret, then, if you’re handing out relationship advice?”

“Your father sees me for all that I am, and I him,” said Moira. “We have always embraced each other’s hopes and dreams and made them our own. Even as your father built this business from the ground up, he never stopped encouraging me to answer the siren call of the stage whenever it beckoned.”

David tried not to roll his eyes. “And that means what exactly?” 

“To be true partners, you must never forget who the other person is outside of the relationship. When you are fulfilled by your passions, that passion is carried into _other_ situations.”

“Again I say, ew.” 

Moira shrugged but she finally picked up her bag and imperiously rose to her feet and headed toward the door. “Really, David, you shouldn’t scowl so much. You’ll wrinkle prematurely that way. Toodle-loo.” 

David was relieved to see Moira go, probably off to terrorize some other poor, unsuspecting person. But despite his best impulses, he couldn’t get his mother’s words out of his head. Patrick did have a dream, a passion that called to him, from the kitchen rather than the stage, but still. David knew he could make that happen for him, to give Patrick the thing that would fulfill his dreams, if only Patrick would let him. 

***

"Stevie!” David called as he walked past Stevie’s desk on his way back into his office. “Will you set up an appointment with Deb today? I have an idea I want to discuss with her." 

David had finally managed to get his mother out of his office and was only five minutes late to his meeting, which, thankfully, turned out to include doughnuts. David ate two and found himself quite content with the world. 

"You just met with her last week," Stevie said, following David into his office.

"Well, it's about something new,” David said. “Get her on my schedule ASAP."

"Whatever you want, boss."

David grunted in dismissal and flopped into his desk chair. When he looked up again a minute later, Stevie was still standing there, glowering at him with crossed arms.

"What?" David asked, harangued. It had been a very trying day. 

"You haven't said anything about why Patrick Brewer was here last night."

"That's personal."

"Don't you pay me to take care of all things professional _and_ personal?" Stevie countered.

"It's private."

Stevie's glare intensified. There was no help for it. And David was dying to talk about it anyway. He rolled his eyes with mock exasperation.

"What did you say to him at Sunday brunch?"

Stevie grinned like a shark smelling fresh blood. "He mentioned that, did he?"

"He did."

"I just casually mentioned that you and Alexis maybe don't, historically, share really well and he should maybe possibly decide if he wanted Alexis...or you."

"You didn't."

"He picked Alexis, didn't he? That little…"

"No. He, uh, came here to confess that he had feelings for me. We may have spent the night together last night."

"Well, that was fast." But Stevie sounded impressed, nonetheless. 

"Nothing happened! We talked and kissed a bit. We just slept. Nothing more. It's still...new. Realizing he's...you know, attracted to men is new for him."

"You like him," Stevie said baldly. 

David waved a hand, dismissing the question.

"You really like him,” she pressed. 

"Didn't you already figure that out?” David cried. “Wasn't that what your whole shake down tactics were all about?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't know that you knew it too,” Stevie argued. 

"Why do you care so much?"

"I just wanted to hear you admit I was right for once."

David grunted and shuffled through some papers, trying to indicate he was done with this conversation. "Okay, well, now you know. You can run along now."

Stevie didn’t move. "When are you going to see him again?"

David groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "Can you just schedule that meeting with Deb?"

"Fine, fine,” Stevie said, hands in the air, like she was being accused of a crime.

"Can you...would you also make a reservation for dinner for two tonight? Someplace private and cozy, maybe?"

Stevie grinned lecherously. "Sure, I can do that.” And then she flounced out of David’s office with a satisfied smirk. David tried to remember that Stevie was actually really great at her job when she wanted to be. 

***

The restaurant was tiny, just an absolute hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant in Chelsea with exposed brick and massive portions. The food was delicious, the wine pairings excellent, and their little corner table made it feel like they were the only patrons in the entire place. Patrick seemed just as enamored with it as David was. 

“For all my fancy culinary education and cutting edge modern techniques,” Patrick said as he slurped down another mouthful of braised gnocchi, “sometimes you can’t beat an old family recipe.” 

David twirled his linguine around his fork. “I think I want to bathe in this sauce.” 

“Would that be step five or six of your skincare routine?” Patrick asked with a smile that seemed to spread from ear to ear. 

As they ate through their primi piatti and secondi piatti, Patrick asked David questions about Rose Video and Interflix and actually seemed interested in David’s answers. Unless they were in the entertainment business and were angling for some connections, most of David’s dates seemed to resent Rose Video Entertainment and the time David devoted to his job. Maybe it was still too early, but Patrick didn’t seem to harbor any such animosity. He hardly batted an eye when David pulled out his phone to check his texts or send off a quick response to an urgent email. Instead, he gave David his undivided attention between bites of food and sips of his wine. He listened to David whine about the rapidly approaching upfronts where Interflix would unveil their forthcoming new content to marketers and critics. 

“Why don’t you have Alexis help you with that?” Patrick asked, batting David’s encroaching fork away from his plate of tiramisu with his own utensil. “She has some amazing ideas. I heard her and Ted talking about PR for his show.” 

It was cute how Patrick seemed to think the best of people but especially Alexis, who hadn’t worked a full day of her life, and could not be relied on for anything but being a flake. “Oh, Alexis may know how to take a good Instagram photo,” David said, “but she’s not cut out for a corporate PR account.”

Patrick considered David for a long moment, tapping his fork against his teeth. “I asked Alexis once why she didn’t work at Rose Video too, it being the family business and all. And you know what she told me?”

David sighed, wearily. Patrick may have switched his romantic affections to him, but he still apparently felt an allegiance to Alexis. “Fine. What did she say?”

“She said she didn’t need to bother because you were always there.” 

“Oh.” 

“I actually like that you’re a workaholic. I am too, when I’ve got a kitchen to run. Chefs work long hours. But you don’t have to do everything yourself. It’s a big company, David. You’ve got a lot of people who want to be good at their jobs too. Even Alexis if you gave her the chance.”

“Um. I don’t know…”

“Just….” Patrick slid the rest of his tiramisu over to David with a wry smile. “Just think about it, okay?” 

“Okay,” David promised, sinking his fork into the soft mascarpone and cocoa powder. 

Patrick watched intently as David licked the dessert off his fork and licked his lips. “It’s good, right?”

“So good,” David groaned. “I feel bad that I didn’t let you try any of my cheesecake.” David had inhaled his slice of gianduja cheesecake. There wasn’t a single crumb left.

“Next time,” Patrick said. He sounded as if he wanted there to be lots of next times. 

David finished the rest of the tiramisu in small, savoring bites. He smoothed down the tablecloth in front of him and then cleared his throat. “I might have a proposition for you too,” he admitted. 

Patrick leaned forward. “Oh, what kind of proposition?” 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last night, about your career trajectory. And how you want to speed up the process of getting your own restaurant, but don’t want me to be the sole investor.” 

“Sure.” Patrick said. He was looking at David warily, but so far David hadn’t said anything that Patrick hadn’t already said himself. 

“So what you need to do is raise your profile and fast,” David said. “I think I have just the job for you.” 

Patrick blinked at David, his brows furrowing with a confused tilt of the head. David forged ahead. 

“I was talking to Deb Kaufmann, the head of development for Interflix, and she had a new idea for a cooking show. Following chefs as they travel to different places, eat local foods, and dissect the dishes for viewers. You’d be perfect for it. You’re fresh and young and being on screen would be amazing for your career.” 

“No. No,” Patrick shook his head. “I don’t think I’d be a terribly exciting person to watch. There’s a reason I like to be in a kitchen, behind closed doors, just cooking.”

“It’s okay to be noticed, Patrick,” David insisted. “And you know executive chefs have to promote themselves. This is the quickest way to raise your profile, guaranteed. You’ll have your own restaurant in three years, five tops.” 

“David,” Patrick’s eyes looked wounded. “You know that that’s not what this”—he gestured between them with a pointed finger—”is about. I don’t want to use you or your connections for my own gain. I already took too much of an advantage by letting you introduce me to Mr. Ripert. I really did mean it when I said I’d like to do this on my own.”

“Sure, but you also said you owed us,” David said, a touch icily. He wanted to help Patrick, just like his parents had. Why was Patrick being difficult about it now? He decided to switch tactics. “You’d really be doing me, and by extension my parents, a favor. Our move into original programming has been really successful for Interflix but we need to keep generating new content to keep our subscribers happy. We want to move on this right away, but it would take ages to find the right person with the right qualifications and the availability. You just happen to be perfect for it.”

Patrick stared at David for a solid minute. He looked slightly taken aback, maybe even a little upset. But once he got used to the idea, he'd see it was for the best. “Maybe I do owe you,” Patrick finally said. He sounded strangely sad about it. 

David stirred the coffee the server had just placed in front of him along with the bill. “Just think about it, okay?” 

Patrick nodded. He drank deeply from his own cup of coffee, but seemed far away from David, lost in thought.


	8. i'm in a world apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the homestretch! The last three chapters will be posted this week.
> 
> Translations of French are at the end.

“You want to bring in Bourdain for this?” 

Deb and David were moving forward with their plans for the show. Deb had already been advocating for Interflix to produce more documentary-style series since the success of _World Wild Web_ and it was a good idea whether or not Patrick wanted to be a part of it, David reminded himself. He was confident he could convince Patrick, in the end. He just hoped Patrick would accept that this was best for his career and appreciate what David was trying to do for him. Not everyone got to have the job of their dreams and David cared too much for Patrick to let him settle for less. This was the right thing to do, for Patrick, David told himself for the hundredth time. 

“Anthony? Oh no, he’s not willing to quit his current gig, especially not for something with such a similar feel,” David said. “No, I’ve got someone else in mind. An up and coming chef. Someone who might appeal to a younger audience.” David knew how long post-production would take and he didn’t want to delay Patrick’s career progress by a long pre-production period too. If he could fast track this, he would. 

Deb didn’t press for more details. She was the one who would ultimately make the final call, but they both knew David could push through his preferences without much of a fight. “Well, your person will still need to do a screen test first.” 

David had still expected that. A lot of charismatic people were offensively bad on screen. You either had it or you didn’t. But David was pretty sure Patrick had it. 

Deb scrolled through her phone, checking dates. “We already have a local film crew in Europe, just finishing up another show. We could have them stick around and get production running on this show in no time at all.”

David froze. He had been so focused on getting Patrick a job that he had forgotten that travel would be a necessary component of it. 

“Don’t you think it would make more sense to shoot here first?” David asked hopefully. He wanted to do this for Patrick; he just didn’t want to have to give him up yet in order for it to happen. David had imagined Patrick might travel around a bit, maybe to wine country in California or the honky tonk barbecues of Memphis but he’d assumed Patrick would be home on the weekends. Home in New York with him, not in Europe with an ocean between them. 

Deb looked at David from over the ridge of her horn-rimmed glasses. David might technically be Deb’s boss, but she had 30 years of industry experience. David had never second-guessed her before. Trusting her implicitly had always been the right call. “That would take a lot more time to put into motion. I thought we were fast-tracking this.”

“Right. I did say that,” David conceded, heart sinking. 

“And didn’t we want this to be a cooking slash travel show? Most people are going to want more exotic locales than the McDonald’s in Brooklyn.” 

David didn’t want Deb to be right, but she was always right. He was just being selfish by not wanting to send Patrick back to Europe. And it didn’t have to mean the end of their relationship or anything. Maybe they could do some long distance thing or pick things up when Patrick returned. If Patrick returned. There were a lot of maybes. But no, David had to do this. Helping Patrick achieve his dreams was worth it. 

“You’re right,” David finally said. “Europe it is.” 

Deb pushed her glasses up her nose. “Great. So where do you want to start? Madrid, Rome, London?”

“Paris,” David said, voice firm. “We have to start in Paris.” 

***

It took a lot of cajoling, but David finally persuaded Patrick to come back to his office to film a test at the small studio on the floor below David’s. David had insisted Patrick’s cooking skills were excellent, so Deb had arranged for Patrick to do a taste testing rather than a cooking demonstration.

Patrick didn’t look nervous, but David could see Patrick didn’t have his usual spark about him. He stood next to David, quieter than usual, watching the small crew set everything up with impenetrable eyes. 

“Okay, Patrick,” Deb said, leading him to a spot behind the table by his arm. “The idea is that you’re having a conversation with the audience about food. We’ve got three different dishes under the covers for you to try. You can tell us about their history or how to prepare them or what they taste like, if you want to taste them. We want to see how well you think on your feet and what your speaking style is like.” 

“Okay,” said Patrick, pushing up the already rolled-up sleeves of his blue button-down. “I think I can handle that.”

“Great,” said Deb with a firm pat on his shoulder before she moved into the shadows behind the single camera. When the cameraman signalled that he was recording, Deb called out, “Okay. We’re rolling. For the record, please tell us your name.”

Patrick squinted at the bright lights above him and attempted to direct his gaze toward the camera where he’d heard Deb’s voice come from. “My name is Patrick Brewer.” 

“And what will you be doing today, Patrick?” Deb asked. She settled into a chair and pulled out her clipboard to start jotting down notes. David silently moved to stand right behind her, his eyes never once leaving Patrick’s. Not that Patrick could see that. 

Patrick rolled his shoulders ever so slightly. He seemed to shake off all his nerves and when he looked back at the camera, he had one of his most brilliant smiles plastered across his face. David dug his fingernails into his arms and silently willed Patrick to be great. He knew just how riveting Patrick could be when talking about food and he hoped the camera could capture that passion too. 

“Well, today, I’m going to eat some food. Apparently, people find watching other people eat as exciting as eating themselves. Whatever floats your boat, I suppose.”

He lifted up the first cloche to reveal the plate below and looked back up with a wickedly delighted smile as he set the cover aside. “I see we’re starting with something easy today. This, my friends, is escargot. Which is just a fancy way of saying snails.” 

Patrick picked up one of the snail shells with a pair of tongs and brandished it for the camera. David winced to himself, glad he wasn’t being forced to eat a slug on camera. For all the fancy meals he’d eaten throughout his life, some things were just a bridge too far. 

“You’ve got to be really careful with the tongs, otherwise you could have a whole _Pretty Woman_ situation on your hands,” Patrick continued brightly. “People have been eating snails since the Roman times. They’re high in protein and low in fat and are considered a delicacy in many parts of the world, especially in France and the Mediterranean.”

Patrick looked closely at the brown speckled shell and the gastropod within. “I am of the opinion that they continue to be eaten for the sole purpose of proving that anything is delicious when cooked in enough butter and garlic.’” 

Patrick picked up a delicately small two-pronged silver fork sitting next to the plate. David couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Patrick really was electric to watch. 

“Eating a snail can be a tricky business, but don’t let these slippery little suckers scare you off. That’s why you have this particular utensil. The snail fork or _une fourchette d'escargot._ Everything sounds better in French, doesn’t it?” 

“Oh my god,” said Deb, gripping onto David’s arm with sheer delight as Patrick pried the snail out of its shell. “He is adorable. Where did you find him?” 

“Above the garage,” David whispered and then more loudly so Deb could hear: “We grew up together.” 

David watched Patrick through new eyes. How did someone who had been a background character for pretty much all of David’s life suddenly become a main character? How had he never noticed how magnetic Patrick was, how his smile inched across his face like he was surprised to be so delighted, how his nose wrinkled as he talked, or his cheeks flushed when he got super passionate. 

Patrick had released the snail from its shell and was showing it off toward the cameras. It looked like a grey plug of snot bathed in green butter. David had never wanted to put something into his mouth less, but the way Patrick beamed despite the heat of the lights and the stare of the camera made David want to change his mind. 

Patrick cocked his head to the side as he considered the snail at the end of his fork. “I worked for a French chef who said the way to know your escargot was done was when you heard the snails singing in their shells. He also said that food is all part of a delicate symphony for your taste buds. You miss the sweetest melodies by ignoring the instruments you don’t understand.” 

Patrick’s mouth closed around the fork and its dead slug and he chewed with relish, an incongruously wide smile on the lips that had just produced such poetry. No matter what this meant for David, Patrick deserved this. He deserved everything David could do for him.

“You might be surprised by how much you love it when you open your mind to the idea that food is more than just sustenance, but also art.” Patrick put down the fork and empty shell and smiled at the camera.

“I think I just fell in love,” Deb said with a dramatic sigh. “Audiences are going to eat him up with a spoon.” 

David knew exactly what she meant. 

***

“You were amazing,” David told Patrick when the screen test was over. They were back in David’s office and David was pouring them a drink from the antique Italian bar cart in the corner. His suit jacket was off and he’d rolled up his sleeves since it was the end of the day...or near enough now. “I think Deb was about to propose marriage to you and she’s a tough woman to please.” 

“I hate to disappoint her,” Patrick said dryly, accepting the glass of whisky David handed him. “Since I’ve recently sworn off women and all.” 

“Good.” David hid his smile behind his cut glass crystal tumbler. It made the light refract around the room and light up Patrick’s eyes so they looked like honey. “So the sooner you can leave the better. We have a film crew finishing up another project in Europe right now and they’re already working on getting the permissions we need to continue filming in Paris.” 

“Wait, what? Paris?” Patrick looked frightfully perplexed. “You never said anything about Paris. I thought it would be shot here.”

This was the part David had been dreading, but he reminded himself again that this was what was best for Patrick, not him. He knew the travel aspect might be a dealbreaker for Patrick, especially since David wouldn’t—and couldn’t—follow but Patrick loved Paris. 

“Well, we can do a few things in studio, but the travel aspect of it is a bit important so we will need to film on location. It’s just for two months, maybe three. Really, we’d love you to travel to more locations than just France. Could you stay there longer?” 

“Longer than three months?” 

David barreled on. “We’ll start with a small episode order to begin since we’re rushing the production on this. I talked with Anthony and he says it takes at least 10 days to film a single episode of _Parts Unknown_ . I mean, this is a different show, obviously, but a similar feel so I think a week per episode is a safe bet. Bourdain travels 250 days out of the year. At least this won’t be _that_ intense. Not to begin with.”

Patrick was quiet. It was a menacing silence. 

Patrick set down his glass on the side table. It sounded loud in contrast to all the silence. “I don’t understand, David.”

“I know this is a lot, but it’s the best way to get your name and face out there. We won’t keep you out of a kitchen permanently. I know that’s still important to you.” 

Patrick accepted the information with a distracted nod. “Sure. But if I’m gone for three months or maybe longer, what does that mean for us?”

“What do you mean by ‘us’?” David set his own glass down, but did it as softly as he could. David desperately wanted that, wanted to be with Patrick, but how could he possibly hold Patrick back just so they could be together? Besides, none of David’s relationships had ever made it past three months. He couldn’t bear to watch Patrick come to the realization that everyone else did, that David was too much and he wanted out. He never wanted to hear that Patrick regretted turning down the job. 

“Us dating!” Patrick’s eyes were taking on that panicked, frenzied look like they got when he’d come out to David. Had that only been a week ago? 

“Well,” David said calmly. “I’d certainly love to see when you get back. We can pick back up then if you want.” He didn’t want to think of them breaking up, but he’d do it to ensure that Patrick didn’t throw away his chance at his dream. That’s what you did when you cared about someone, right? 

“That’s it?” Patrick’s voice was strained. “I thought we were starting something here, an actual relationship. Was it all one-sided on my part?” 

David forced himself to stay calm. “No! I like you, Patrick. I like you a lot.” 

“I like you a lot too, David,” said Patrick. The tone of his voice seemed to say the discussion was over. 

But David needed him to understand what was truly at stake here. “This is the time to focus on your career, Patrick, and I can give you that. Please, let me give you that.” 

“So you think it’s a choice between my career or my relationship with you, is that it?”

“No. No, of course not. But will you really be happy taking a lesser job when this opportunity could open so many doors for you?” 

“You’re right.” Patrick paced the office again. David had grown almost fond of Patrick’s pacing. He sat on the edge of his desk and waited. 

Patrick nodded to himself as he paced, and then turned to face David, a decision made. “All right. Well, then I refuse.”

“You refuse?”

“Yes,” Patrick said definitely. “Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Rose, but I am no longer available for this exciting career opportunity. You see, I just started a new relationship and I’m not willing to give it up.”

David couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss Patrick silly or smack him upside the head. “You can’t be serious. You’d give up an amazing job to stay here….with me?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

David’s lips opened and closed but no sound came out. 

“And I’m not giving up everything. I’ll accept Mr. Ripert’s job offer. It’s still an amazing opportunity.” 

“You’re a fool,” but the way David said it was full of affection and awe. 

“Yes,” Patrick said, stepping into the space between David’s knees. “I am.” Patrick was taller with David sitting on the desk and he looked down at David like he knew what he was doing. He fisted David’s tie around his palm and drew David in close so their noses were touching. “I want you, David.” 

“Yes,” was all David could think to say before Patrick’s mouth found his. Yes, Patrick was a fool. Yes, David wanted him more than he’d wanted anything else. And yes, David was going to have to break his own heart to give Patrick his heart’s desire because Patrick couldn’t be trusted to take it for himself. 

***

“Stevie!” 

By the next day, David’s desk was in complete disarray. He couldn’t find a damn thing. He couldn’t do this sitting down. He stood up to rifle through the papers threatening to take over his workspace.

“You called.” 

No one sneered quite as beautifully as Stevie Budd. David glanced up at Stevie, who looked wildly unimpressed with him. 

“Stevie, hi. I need you to get me two first class tickets on a flight to Paris next Monday. One in the name of Patrick Brewer and one in my name.” 

Stevie tilted her head, eyes sharpened. “You don’t fly.” 

“Yes, I’m well aware of that fact.”

“And Monday is the beginning of upfronts. You wouldn’t miss those,” Stevie argued. 

David shuffled more papers. “I’m not going to miss it.” 

Stevie folded her arms across her chest. “Then why are you going to Paris that day?”

David looked up at her quickly. “Who said I was going?”

Stevie’s hands were on her hips now, a sure sign that she was done with David’s antics for the day. “What idiot idea have you gotten into your head now?” 

David sighed, resigned. “Patrick thinks our relationship is more important than a fucking amazing job opportunity. I can’t let him walk away from it.”

Stevie’s silence was incriminating. It made David’s skin itch. 

“He’s going to regret it, if he doesn’t go,” David tried to explain. “And I can’t handle the fall out when he finally comes to that realization, when he realizes I’m not worth it.”

The hard line of Stevie’s grim mouth softened. “So why does there need to be a plane ticket with your name on it then?” 

“Because Patrick is a good person.” 

“That’s not an answer and you know it.” 

David considered lying but Stevie could always see right through him. Why lie when the truth felt more like fiction anyway? She wasn’t going to believe him either way. 

David fiddled with his pen. “Because Patrick doesn’t actually want me to just hand him a job.” He set his pen down and met Stevie’s eye. “I mean, that’s what this whole thing started as. Help Patrick get a job so he’d go away and leave Alexis alone so she could help us nail Ted.” 

The side of Stevie’s mouth twitched up. David tried not to smile himself.

“Bad choice of words. But Patrick doesn’t want to feel like he’s taking advantage of me or my family. He wanted introductions, not a job custom-made by his boyfriend...or whatever I am. He wants to do it on his own.” 

David cleared his throat.

“I actually respect him for that.” David paused and hoped that’d be enough of an explanation for Stevie, but apparently not given the status of her eyebrows. He sighed and continued. “But in order for him to actually get on the plane, he has to think I am also going to be on the plane. I’ll say I got caught up at the office and will meet him there. But once he’s on the plane, there’s no getting off. And it will be too late once he realizes I’m not coming.” 

David glanced down and saw the file he had been looking for right there in the center of his desk. Of course. 

“Make reservations for him at a nice hotel. Get him an expense account with no limit.” 

Stevie made no move to leave. “Seems like an awful lot of work to get rid of the chauffeur’s son.” Her voice was soft but lined with steel. 

David made a noise in his throat, halfway between a snort and a strangled cry. “He’s so much more than just the chauffeur’s son.”

“You know, I thought so too.” Stevie said and then she left. 

***

The email confirmation printout for the plane tickets were on David’s counter when Patrick came over later that night. David hadn’t intended to make it obvious or to make a show of it. Stevie’s disappointed voice had taken root in David’s head and he was starting to consider that he could possibly do something wildly out of character and embrace joy or whatever the kids were calling it these days. He could accept that Patrick wanted to be with him and let it be. 

There was a part of him that also thought he could even follow through and actually go to Paris with Patrick. Maybe the skies wouldn’t feel so full of imminent disaster if Patrick was right beside him, stroking his hand with his sure and steady smile. 

And then Patrick was at his door, his sure and steady mouth hot over David’s and he forgot all about his self-destructive plans and just focused on the feel of Patrick stretched against him, the slide of Patrick’s tongue against his own, the tangle of Patrick’s fingers at the back of his neck. Patrick was a quick study; he’d already figured out exactly what David liked, what David needed, and he’d never felt so unbearingly understood before. 

“Can we just order in tonight?” Patrick said in between kissing David. 

David had his phone out in seconds. “Thai or Indian?”

Patrick laughed as he dropped another body tingling kiss to David’s neck. “Thai. The answer is always Thai.” 

David ordered enough food to feed a small army before dragging Patrick to the couch where gravity pulled them into a less than vertical position as they waited for the delivery. They’d been taking things slow, which had been terrifying to David at first because he’d always rushed straight into sex. But David had let Patrick set the pace and tried not to push him and it had been going well so far. But Patrick’s blown wide pupils and wandering hands made David pulse with the possibility that it was coming soon. Patrick wanted him. He had said so. He’d turned down Paris, a job, fame, money to stay with David. 

David needed to hide the tickets. He needed more time to figure out what to do before they both did something they might come to regret. 

The buzzer to his apartment rang and David went to answer the door, bringing back two hefty bags full of lemongrass-scented curries, spring rolls, and pad thai. Patrick clapped his hands and jumped up from the couch to help David with the bags, bringing them over to the table where they’d eaten their first meal together. 

Patrick dug through the bags and grunted. “No chopsticks. We can’t eat Thai food with forks.” And then Patrick was rifling through David’s drawers that he clearly knew better than David himself, looking for a pair of chopsticks and David saw the moment it happened, almost in slow motion, when Patrick’s eyes landed on the tickets.

“What are these?” he asked, stepping closer to pick them up. 

“Nothing. You weren’t supposed to see them.” David tried to pull them out of Patrick’s grasp. 

“This looks like a plane ticket to Paris with my name on it.” 

“Like I said, it’s nothing.”

Patrick was quiet, so quiet. And then he saw the second page and David saw how Patrick’s eyes widened and how his mouth twitched and how his whole presence lit up. God, this was happening too fast. Should David keep going on with the plan he’d concocted to get Patrick on the plane or admit that it was all a ruse, a lie?

“There’s also a ticket with your name on it. A ticket to Paris.”

David found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Patrick’s. “Yes, there is.” 

“Does this mean that if I go to Paris, you’ll come with me?”

David squeezed his hands into tight fists. “I just think you need to reconsider your prior decision to turn down my job offer.” 

Patrick smiled. “David Rose is going to come to Paris with me.” He made it sound like a gift. 

“Well,” David said. “I offered you a really great job.”

Patrick looked up at David. “Then yes. I amend my prior decision.”

“Yes?” 

“David Rose, _je te suivrai sur la lune_.” 

“I have no idea what you just said.” David couldn’t help giving himself over to Patrick’s excitement. He couldn’t help starting to believe it himself. 

Patrick nodded his head, pleased. “I know.” 

The Thai food had to be reheated, but David would never forget the feel of Patrick’s lips and hands that night as they kissed each other in the middle of David’s kitchen. David would never forget how it was hard to kiss someone so full of joy and not start to believe it was the truth too. That joy could be a thing born from within you and not just borrowed from others for a time.

***

The pajamas weren’t his, but they were for him. Patrick had stayed over at David’s a few times, but it wasn’t often planned in advance so he never came prepared. At first, he borrowed what were obviously David’s sleep clothes because they were always a bit too long in the leg or a bit too soft. But then, David handed him a pair of pajamas that were blue, with a matching top and bottom, trimmed with dark blue piping. They were nice, but not as fancy as the pajamas David usually wore and they fit Patrick exactly. 

Patrick was wearing the pajamas when he woke up the next morning, early, before the sun had fully risen to reach the tops of the city’s skyscrapers, and found the spot next to him in bed was empty and cold. It was unusual—no, unheard of—for David to wake up before him. David was often still on his phone late into the night, typing out frenzied replies with his thumbs, and Patrick had already learned to find the gentle vibration of David’s phone soothing as he fell asleep. 

He wasn’t trying to be sneaky, but his feet were bare and muted against David’s refinished hardwood floors as he went in search of his missing boyfriend. _Were they doing boyfriends now?_ David was wrapped in a blanket on the couch, phone to his ear—something work related, no doubt—and Patrick was going to slip into the space between David’s arms when he heard his name and stopped. 

“Yes, Patrick saw them last night.” _Saw what last night? Who was David talking to?_

“Yeah, he’s going to go to Paris. I’ll need you to send him the contract to sign.” Oh, he must be talking to Stevie about going to Paris to shoot the show. Patrick smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to show David Paris. David was going to love it. He even had thoughts about how to best distract David during the flight so he didn’t panic mid-air. 

David sighed and his voice pitched lower. Patrick almost couldn’t hear him. “Stevie, we’ve been through this. I can't go to Paris. No, I am not going to tell him.” 

Patrick squeezed his lips together and willed himself to not make a sound. 

David was practically hissing through his phone now. “I know what you think about this. But I’m telling you, this is the way it needs to be. He needs to do the show.” 

Patrick didn’t stay to hear any more before he fled back to David’s room. David had convinced Patrick that he was going to go to Paris with Patrick but it was all a lie, a trick, a subterfuge. And what for? To get rid of Patrick? For a business deal? Because he valued the money he would make from this show more than a relationship with Patrick? 

It didn’t make sense. Patrick refused to believe it despite what he had just heard David say. He must have heard wrong. He sat on the bed which just ten minutes ago had felt like a warm oasis. Now the twisted sheets and paired dents in the pillows made Patrick’s stomach churn. He stood up and paced. 

David came into the room a few minutes later, mouth turned down and eyes bleary. His brow knit in surprise when he saw Patrick awake and wringing his hands together as he paced. 

“Hi,” David said softly, his voice was warm and concerned. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” 

“What?” Patrick looked up, but felt confused how he had gotten to this point. “No.” Patrick shrugged. “Maybe. Anyway, I should go.”

David’s eyebrows raised all the way to his hairline. “Go?” 

Patrick patted down his legs, suddenly remembering he was still in his blue pajamas. “Have you seen my pants?”

“Patrick, it’s early. Let’s get back in bed.”

Patrick shook his head. “No. I can’t stay.” 

“What’s going on, Patrick?” David stepped closer to Patrick, hand outstretched as if to caress him. God, Patrick wanted David to touch him so much. 

Instead he stepped out of the way and reached to pick up his shoes from the floor. Shoes were good. Pants would be better. “I heard you.” Patrick’s voice sounded almost normal to his ears. 

David crossed his arms across his chest. Patrick already missed the feel of them around him. “You heard what?”

“I heard you talking to Stevie on the phone. I heard you’re not actually going to come to Paris. I heard that it’s better this way.” Patrick’s voice still sounded fine. It didn’t sound like his heart had been broken at all. 

David’s face seemed crumpled in on itself. It was horrifying to watch. “Patrick, it’s not what you think.”

Patrick laughed bitterly at that. “Oh, so you didn’t plant those plane tickets to make me think you would come to Paris with me, so that I would agree to shoot your show even though you have no intention of going at all?”

“You know I hate to fly…” David started. 

“That is a lie and you know it!” Patrick’s voice didn’t sound fine anymore. In fact, it had gotten quite loud, even to Patrick’s ears. He dragged in one suffocating breath and tried for a calmer tone. “This isn’t just about you being afraid to fly.” 

David covered his mouth with his fingers and shook his head. 

“Right,” Patrick said as he shoved his legs into the pants he had finally found in a lump under the bed.

“Right,” Patrick repeated. “Was any part of our relationship real? Or was it just me making a complete fool of myself?”

“No, Patrick. No, it was real. None of it was an act,” David insisted. “I just…”

“You just what?” 

“It’s not going to last,” David finally managed to say. “Maybe I work too much or maybe I push people away or maybe I’m just an awful boyfriend. I don’t know. All I know is that my relationships don’t last. I’ll never be able to give you everything that you want, but I can give you...I can do this for you.” 

Patrick stared at David as if he’d never seen him before. And he did look like something different. He looked like a man who had let himself believe the lies that he had been told about himself. 

Finally, Patrick spoke. “I don’t know what’s worse, David. That you didn’t even give us a fighting chance or that you have so little regard for yourself that you think you don’t deserve better.”

Patrick gathered the rest of his belongings into his arms and moved around David for the door. He paused on his way out and turned back to look at him, because he wanted to, because he always wanted to be looking at David. 

“I never wanted the job more than I wanted you. I can’t imagine ever not wanting you.” The room was growing radiantly bright with the rising sun but David’s eyes were dark. Patrick hated that this would always be the way he remembered David from now on, rumpled by sleep, his face a mask of shadows and fear. “I was happy in Paris. I think you would have been too.”

Patrick left the room, but David thankfully didn’t follow. Patrick plucked the plane ticket off the kitchen island and then showed himself out of David’s apartment for the last time. He needed to go pack his suitcases again. It was almost like he never should have unpacked them in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the great things about setting this fic in 2015 was that I was able to use Anthony Bourdain, one of my favorites, as a minor celebrity name drop. Sadly, Anthony Bourdain died by suicide in 2018. If you or anyone who know is struggling, please reach out to the [Suicide Prevention Lifeline.](https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/)
> 
> French Translation:  
>  _“Je te suivrai sur la lune.”_ \- I would follow you to the moon.


	9. give your heart and soul to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue will be up tomorrow!

David had perfected the art of compartmentalizing his life. After Patrick left, he took his bruised heart, boxed it up, and got on with his day. He was far too busy to do otherwise. He might convince Stevie to buy him a soft pretzel from a street vendor or a cookie from Milk Bar, but that would be the only acknowledgement that everything was not alright. Stevie would understand, even if no one else did and that was all that mattered. 

Still, he was not in top form when Ted strolled into his office at half past 10 to sign his new contract. David had completely forgotten about it even though it was right there on his calendar. They’d normally do in front of a team of lawyers—Ted’s and Interflix’s—in the executive conference room next to his office, but Ted had wanted a few minutes with David first. 

“Hey, David!” Ted said ebulliently as Stevie escorted him into the room and then silently closed the door behind her as she left. 

“Hey. It’s me,” David replied. He cringed when he realized just how stupid that sounded. He stood up to shake Ted’s hand but then Ted made a move like he was going to hug David so they did an awkward handshake/hug/back pat thing instead. 

David settled back into his chair and tried not to let his mortification show on his face. Ted was a good guy. David liked him even if he didn’t understand upbeat, happy people who willingly touched wild creatures for fun. At least Ted’s weirdness had been lucrative for Interflix. 

“How’s it going? How are things with Alexis?” David asked. He had no intention of listening to the answer, but it seemed like the polite thing to do. 

“Alexis is amazing,” Ted responded emphatically. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“Uh-huh,” David looked out the window. New York didn’t look a thing like Paris. It was too new, too cutthroat. Maybe that’s why Patrick didn’t belong in this world, with him. Patrick was ambitious, but too pure of heart. 

“We’ve been talking about my show a lot and Alexis has really good ideas. I’d like to have Alexis on my PR team and in charge of my social media. I want that added to my contract. It’s my one condition before signing.”

“Sure,” David said distractedly. He wondered what Patrick was doing right now., if he’d talked to his parents, told them all about what a horrible person David was. “Wait...what?”

“Oh, there you are,” Ted said and smiled brightly. “I want Alexis brought onto my account.” 

David eyed Ted for possible signs of a head injury. “I’m not sure…”

“If it ends up being a disaster, you have my permission to say ‘I told you so.’ But I think she’s going to impress you.” Ted settled back into his chair, satisfied, until a new realization seemed to dawn on him. “Oh, wait. It’s not against the rules to still date her if she’s working with me, is it?”

“No,” David said slowly. He was sure there were some bylaws somewhere that strongly discouraged employee fraternization, but honestly, David didn’t really have a leg to stand on since he’d greenlit a new series for his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Same thing. “So...your relationship is going well?” 

Ted looked rapturous. “I’ve never met anyone else like her. I don’t want to get ahead of myself—and please don’t say anything to her—but I think she could be the one.” David wasn’t going to call the sound Ted made a squeal, but it was close.

“Oh,” David blinked in shock. “That’s….wow. That’s great. For you guys.”

Ted beamed. “How’s it going with you and Patrick? I was so happy when Alexis told me you two had…” He made an obscenely inappropriate gesture with his hands, but had the grace to blush when he realized what he’d done. 

“Patrick and I broke up,” David said tersely. Alexis would hear it from Patrick sooner or later and tell Ted anyway. Might as well cut out the middle man. “This morning.” 

Ted’s eyes immediately softened. Now he was looking at David like he was a baby panda he wanted to cuddle. “I’m so sorry, bud. What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.” 

“What always happens,” David said dispassionately. “I’m basically the human equivalent of the inside of a roasted marshmallow. I’m not cut out for relationships or genuine emotions. Patrick just learned that faster than the others.” 

“I’m not so sure that’s true,” Ted said thoughtfully. 

“All due respect, but what do you know?” David didn’t care that it came out sharper than he had intended. He just needed this day to be over already. He needed his comfiest hoodie, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, a British period drama, a good cry, and then he would be  _ fine.  _

“Well,” Ted said with that disgustingly sincere face of his. “I know that Alexis talks about what a good brother you are all the time. I know that you’ve rescued her from a lot of bad situations like that whole thing last year with Andrew Keegan and his cult. I know you almost single-handedly saved your family’s company from becoming obsolete and that you work 80 hours a week to keep it that way. I may spend most of my time with animals, but I don’t think you do all that if you don’t have genuine human emotions.” 

David couldn’t speak. 

“I also know,” continued Ted, “that Patrick is crazy about you.”

“Insanity isn’t a good enough reason to date me,” David said cynically. 

“I don’t know, David,” Ted replied. “Sometimes we do crazy things when we feel too much. But if you think you’ve got something there, why let it go without a fight? That doesn’t sound like the David Rose I know.” 

“I think I pushed him too far,” David finally admitted. 

“How so?”

“I gave Patrick an incredible opportunity to advance his career—which is what he always said he wanted—but he was going to turn it down. I knew he’d come to regret it and I couldn’t let him do that. So I did what had to be done. Like I always do.”

“So it was a choice between you or his career?” Ted asked. 

“Basically,” David said. 

“A career is important,” Ted conceded, “but so is love. And isn’t that Patrick’s decision to make...for himself?” 

David considered Ted and his boy-next-door looks and guileless charm for a moment. “I think I’ve underestimated you a lot, Ted.” 

Ted clucked his tongue and shrugged. “It happens more than you’d think. So you’ll add Alexis to the contract?” 

David sighed, but he couldn’t really object. “Yes.”

“Great. Good.” Ted stood up. “Are you going to talk to Patrick?”

David sighed and looked out the window again. He could see the Chrysler Building in the distance. If you squinted, it looked a little bit like the Eiffel Tower. “Let’s just go sign this contract,” he finally said. “And I’ll think about it.”

***

Patrick packed slowly, methodically, recklessly. He remembered packing his suitcase five years ago, not knowing what to expect from Paris, not knowing what it would come to mean to him. He knew now. He only hoped Paris wouldn’t change for him, returning so soon after leaving, and now with a broken heart. 

He reached for another blue shirt. David would have opinions about it, about when and where Patrick should wear it, how to fold it into his suitcase so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Patrick tried to push David Rose out of his mind and stuffed the shirt in the space next to his shoes. What did wrinkles matter anyway?

When he looked up, his mother was in the doorway, eyes gentle and searching. He’d told his parents everything that had happened between him and David. The job offer. The plane tickets. The subterfuge. 

Marcy walked across the room and started to fold some of the shirts laying haphazardly across Patrick’s bed. “Will you be terribly annoyed if I cry at the airport tomorrow?”

“I’m not going to be gone forever, Mom. It’s only for a few months.” Patrick shoved his rolled up socks next to his bag of toiletries. Marcy looked apprehensive and so, so small. Patrick’s heart clenched a little to think of what it must mean to her to let him go. To let him go again. “But no, mom, I won’t be terribly annoyed if you cry tomorrow. I’ll probably cry too.” His throat constricted painfully and he turned to the dresser to hide his face.

“Oh, Patrick. I feel terrible. I should have stopped this. I should have said something.” 

“Mom, no. Don’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have predicted this. Besides, you did the best thing a parent can do: you let me make my own mistakes. I’ll never hate you for that.” 

“I guess one good thing did come out of this,” she said morosely. “You did get over Alexis, didn’t you?”

Patrick laughed feebly. “Oh, yes. Yes, I did get over that. I’m cured.” He sighed miserably. “Now to get over the cure.” 

Patrick would learn to live with it, he supposed, the way you learn to live with any chronic ailment. A smoker's cough, a bum knee, an irritable gut. Pop a pill, cry a little, and move on. Patrick would just make do with a faulty heart whose rhythm was ruined by “La Vie en Rose”. 

Marcy’s hands stilled, gripping tightly to Patrick’s favorite shirt. “You care about him, don’t you?” 

The French called this  _ la douleur exquise _ —the pain of wanting someone you know you can’t have. Patrick had always thought it was a touch dramatic, but now he had to admit they knew what they were talking about. Then again, the French always did seem to understand love better than everyone else. 

“It doesn’t matter, Mom. He doesn’t feel the same. I was just another business transaction to him.” The strange thing was, the more Patrick thought about what had happened, the more he started to understand what David had done and why he had done it and how David thought he was doing a good thing. That David trying to arrange some aspect of his life was just how David showed that he cared. Or maybe it really was just business. Patrick couldn’t tell anymore.

“You really think that?” Marcy asked with keen eyes. “Your dad seems to think otherwise.” 

Patrick’s skin burned. He didn’t want to discuss this anymore, not when the words it required could scorch him beyond repair. 

“Paris is the perfect place to get over a broken heart. I’ll be happy again, Mom, don’t worry.” 

“I’ll always worry, Patrick. That’s just part of the job description.” Marcy patted his arm and turned to go. She left behind a neatly stacked pile of shirts.

Patrick shoved the newly folded shirts in next to his knives. He barely felt a thing. Somehow that seemed worse than feeling too much. 

*** 

David arrived at Rosebud Manor just as the sky had burst into flames from the dying embers of the setting sun. There had always been something romantic about twilight, David thought, as he killed the ignition of his car and let the silence of Long Island Sound settle around him. There were already lights glowing from the windows above the garage. David had never gone inside the Brewers’ apartment before. But given the size of the manor’s garage, he knew they weren’t actually that small; they just felt that way in comparison to the manor. It probably had been a pretty great place to grow up, actually. Patrick had always seemed happy as a kid from the few fuzzy memories David had of him. 

David stared up at the windows and considered what he might say if he got out of his car and climbed up the stairs and knocked on the door and demanded to see Patrick. David thought about what Patrick had probably already told his parents and what he’d already told himself about what happened and didn’t think he could bear a repeat of their fight from that morning. 

He was careful to shut the door as quietly as he could when he finally did get out of his car so he didn’t alert any of the Brewers to his presence. He skirted the building and followed the path that led to the solarium where he and Patrick had had their first real conversation, where David had first noticed the golden flecks in Patrick’s brown eyes and the shape of his smile. 

The flowers were past bloom and filled the solarium with the overly cloying tang of decay. Despite his last name, David had never actually liked the smell of roses. He liked citrusy, woodsy smells with hints of smoke and earth. It was the way Patrick smelled; slightly smoky and savory as if he carried the scent of the kitchen with him. David sat down on the wide lip of the fountain and looked up at the emerging stars winking through the glass ceiling and tried not to feel sorry for himself. 

When he heard the door squeak open, David’s heart jumped into his throat with the hope that Patrick had come looking for him. He probably didn’t deserve it, but he would have liked to say good-bye to him. A proper good-bye. When he turned to look, he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

“Alexis. How did you know I was in here?” 

“Twyla saw you arrive. She started to worry when you didn’t get out of your car, so she came to get me. When I saw your car was empty, I kinda figured you might come out here.” 

David snorted but said nothing. Alexis took a few steps forward.

“You’ll be happy to know that my ankle is completely healed, no thanks to you.” 

“Shouldn't you be out celebrating with your boyfriend?” David asked brusquely, ignoring her dig for being a meddlesome brother who had meddled in too many people’s lives. “We signed the contract today. Turns out, you were an important part of the contract negotiations after all.” 

“Just give me a chance, David. That’s all I ask.” 

“I will. I promised Ted...,” David swallowed through the lump in his throat. “...and Patrick.”

“Oh,” Alexis said quietly. She considered her words and then sighed and sat down next to David. “I thought you might want to see this.” 

Alexis handed David her phone, open to an article on Page Six that had posted not even two hours ago. It had a blurry photo of David and Patrick sitting together at the Italian restaurant. They were smiling at each other, so it had obviously been taken before the dessert course. Even worse, it had a terribly pedestrian headline that honestly rather offended David for being so unoriginal:  _ Who is David Rose’s Mystery Man? _

It was a flimsy story filled with even flimsier conjecture and no real facts about who Patrick was and what David was doing with him. Just that David had shared a long, intimate meal with an attractive man and that they couldn’t take their eyes off each other. David had learned to be very circumspect in his relationships after several of his more colorful indiscretions from his early twenties had found their way into the gossip rags. But a story like this, even without Patrick’s name attached, could hurt Patrick’s reputation and David couldn’t let that happen either. 

“I’ll take care of it,” David said. “I’ll need to scrub it or spin it in some way.” 

“No,” Alexis said, taking her phone back. “Let me do it. I’ll fix it.” 

David was too tired to argue. “Okay. Thanks, Alexis.” 

She nodded slowly and then said, “I saw Patrick today. He...um...seemed pretty devastated.”

David just nodded. Coming here was a mistake. He should have stuck to the original plan of ice cream, Maggie Smith, and his bed. But he’d made his choices, he supposed. Time to live with them. 

“Did you come here to talk to him?” 

“I’m...I thought about it, but no,” David replied with a sigh. “There’s nothing more to say.” 

“That’s probably for the best,” said Alexis. Her voice had taken on an unexpectedly cavalier tone. “I mean, you totally dodged a bullet there, David. Can you imagine? Dating the son of our cook and chauffeur? Twitter would have a field day.” 

“That’s not why…”

“Seriously, what were we both thinking? Sure, he can speak French and cook, but he’s not even that cute. You know Ronnie says he looks like a thumb.” 

“But…”

“Besides, it’s not like this relationship was ever going to be more important to you than Interflix. It was totally a smart move to end it before you broke poor Patrick’s heart even more.” 

“Stop it, Alexis!” David cried. He couldn’t take any more. “Just shut up.” 

“Oh...so you do still care about him.” Alexis’s face was bright and knowing. 

“You know what?” said David, standing up. “I’m going home. To my apartment. In the city. Far away from you.” 

As he left, David pretended that he hadn’t noticed the small, satisfied smile on Alexis’s face or the glint in her eye that had historically only meant trouble for him. 

***

David slept terribly. Had upfronts not been starting so soon and his presence necessary for the proceedings, he might have considered calling in sick. Well, calling to say that he’d work from home. Which he sometimes did. Almost never. But sometimes.

His skin looked haggard and the bags under his eyes had taken on a distressing bluish tinge that would have put a Bohemian actress dying of consumption to shame. At least his hair looked….well, his hair looked a bit sad too. It was a touch too long now and was starting to curl at the ends so it wouldn’t stay swooped in place. His eyebrows were still magnificent, though, which was a small comfort.

He checked Page Six’s website as he brushed his teeth and to his surprise, Alexis had taken care of it. Not entirely scrubbed, which was increasingly difficult to get them to do these days, but now it didn’t read that David was having a salacious affair with an unknown stranger, but rather that David was courting new talent for Interflix’s original content. It talked up Patrick’s impressive resume and how Interflix was committed to finding fresh, up-and-coming talent for a younger audience. There was no mention of their eyes or the intimacy of their meal. It was, David had to admit, pretty masterfully done. 

When he was finally dressed in his most comfortable suit, David forced himself to leave his apartment, close his front door and lock it. His body moved by muscle memory: down the elevator, through the lobby, into the waiting car service—he didn’t call Clint to drive him to the office; he simply couldn’t face the man yet—out of the car, across another lobby, up the elevator, down the wide hallways. He felt slow, sluggish, like he was wading through waves of mud.

Stevie wasn’t at her desk, but his office door was closed in front of him. He had to remind his arm to reach out for the door, twist the knob, push in and not out. But the light was already on, because his office was not empty. 

Alexis was sitting in his chair, feet up on his desk, twirling a finger around the strands of a high fashion pony. She was wearing a high waisted black pencil skirt with a boat neck sweater that David was pretty sure he’d seen his mother wearing last week. On her feet were a downright demure pair of black pumps. Well, demure for someone who normally wore five inch Jimmy Choo stilettos. 

“What are you doing here, Alexis?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Alexis said, taking her legs off the table and standing up to show off her admittedly very chic daytime work outfit. “I’m here to take over upfronts for you.”

“Uh...no, you’re not.” David said. He shoved her aside to get to the desk.  _ His _ desk. “Just because you’re Ted’s new social media manager does not mean you are ready to take on upfronts. For all of Interflix.” 

Alexis rolled her eyes. “Ugh, please. This fashion pony is not just for looks. I’m, like, a total girl boss, David. And I know what I’m doing. I took care of the Page Six thing, didn’t I?”

David pretended to look over a sheaf of papers. He refused to compliment Alexis to her face. “Yes, that was...well done.” 

David could feel Alexis’s answering smile. “See? I’ve got this under control now, so you can go.” Alexis started tugging at David’s arm, urging him away from his desk. “Stevie!” 

“Stevie?” David cried, perplexed. Stevie stepped into the office holding David’s black leather bag which appeared to be fully stuffed. “Stevie, what is going on?” He felt very ganged up on, and he didn’t appreciate the social dynamics at all.

“I packed you a bag. Even went through your underwear drawer. I need a raise for this bullshit.” 

David shook off Alexis’s hands and glared at both of them. “Why do I need underwear?”

“You’re going to Paris,” Alexis answered, her face was strikingly beautiful in its sunny perfection. “Keep up, David. God, how have you gone this long without my help? No offense, Stevie.” 

David shook his head vehemently and backed up into his desk. “No, no, nope. I don’t have a passport, so I couldn’t possibly travel internationally right now.”

“Actually, you do,” Stevie said, pulling a small blue booklet out of the bag. It must be full of designer underwear and betrayal, David thought. “You drove to the Toronto Film Festival last year, remember, and you needed one to get into Canada.”

“That still doesn’t explain why I’m being shanghaied by you two miscreants.”

“Because,” Alexis said, like she was explaining something to a small child, “you’re in love with Patrick. And he’s on that plane right now. All alone.” 

A tiny spark of longing flared in David’s chest. It hurt to think about Patrick and how David had hurt him. He didn’t think Patrick would ever forgive him. David didn’t think he deserved it, anyway. 

“You’re insane,” David told Alexis. “Patrick won’t forgive me that easily. I can’t get on a plane, even for him.”

Alexis turned on him. She wasn’t exactly unsympathetic, just brimming with unfounded confidence in David which, frankly, he thought was extraordinarily misguided. “Yes, David, you can. You can do this and you’re going to.” 

“Why?” David asked with a trembling voice. 

“You’re going to get on the plane right now because he’s in love with you too. And he’s worth it and you know it.”

"But he must hate me!" David insisted again. He felt like they really weren’t understanding just what a mess he had made of everything. 

"He'll get over it," Alexis said with fond exasperation.

"We always do." Stevie said as she stepped forward to shove the bag into David’s hands. “Clint Brewer is waiting downstairs to take you to the airport. And if you want to have any hope of catching that plane before it departs, you need to go. Now.” 

David turned to Alexis, eyes wide with uncertainty. He didn’t know if he could believe Alexis when she said that Patrick would forgive him, that Patrick could still want him. But oh, he wanted that to be true. “You’re sure about this, Alexis?”

She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and straightened her skirt. “Absolutely.” 

“And you’re absolutely positive you can hold down things here, right? You’re not going to sell Interflix to a Mexican drug cartel and go buy yourself a private island, will you?”

“Interflix is one hundred percent safe with me,” Alexis said with a dizzying amount of confidence. “You’re gonna be impressed.”

And then Alexis did something utterly preposterous; she wrapped her arms around David and hugged him, tight and long. Alexis gave surprisingly good hugs. He’d never known that before. David sank into it and squeezed back and it was a relief to know he could go after Patrick now and have a break from worrying about his family’s company for a little while. “For what it’s worth,” he said into Alexis’ ear, “I’m continuously impressed by you.” 

“Don’t worry,” Stevie said from behind their bizarre display of affection. “I’ll make sure Alexis doesn’t fuck this up.” 

“I’d appreciate that.” David wiped at his eyes as he pulled away from the hug and looked around at his office, taking it all in. He and Patrick had had their first real kiss in this office. And soon, if he was lucky, he’d be kissing Patrick again. “Well, I guess I have a plane to catch.” 

Alexis double blinked at him. There was a triumphant grin on her face. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

***

David was quiet in the car as Clint drove him to the airport. It should have been awkward, but Clint was a professional. He merely stared ahead, hands at ten and two, and didn’t mention how David had treated his son like he was something common or disposable when he was really something quite precious and rare. 

“I’m so sorry,” David said at a red light, biting his bottom lip. “You must think I’m a terrible person.”

Clint watched the traffic with well-honed instincts. “I’ve known you a long time, David. When have I ever given you the impression that I thought you were anything less than a good person?”

David scoffed and looked out the window. “No one thinks I’m a good person.”

“I happen to know the opposite is true. You’d do anything for the people you love. Isn’t that the sign of a good person?”

David felt something well up inside him and he tried to breathe through the horrifying large lump in his throat. When had everyone come to understand him so well? “I still don’t deserve him.”

“It’s not about what you deserve. It’s about what he wants.” Clint met David’s eyes in his rearview mirror. “And he wants you.” 

“I don’t know why,” David said. 

Clint laughed. “I do. And so does Patrick. Maybe you should ask him.” 

“If I don’t miss this plane. Oh god, I have to get on a plane.” David groaned as the back of his head hit the seat, eyes clenched shut in sudden apprehension. But whether it was because he’d have to beg Patrick to give him another chance or he’d have to do it on an airplane, he couldn’t decide. But there was no backing down now. Patrick was too important and David was done messing up. 

“You’re not going to miss the plane,” Clint said confidently as he swerved the car into an open lane. “I’m very good at my job too.” Clint pressed the gas pedal all the way down. 

*** 

Patrick had never flown first class before. He’d been upgraded to economy plus on a two-hour flight to Toronto on a trip to visit his cousins once and he thought that had been pretty great, but that was before he’d known what first class international travel looked like. He sat in his seat and tried to act like he belonged there, ignoring the passengers who filtered past him without acknowledging the longing in their eyes when they saw the ostentatious amounts of leg room he had. 

Instead, he stared out the window and thought about the terrifying job he was going to Paris to do. He thought about the locations he’d need to scout, the chefs he’d need to talk to, the dishes he’d need to prepare. He thought about visiting some of his friends and old professors, the chefs he’d once worked for. He didn’t think about Alexis or Rosebud Manor or even David. He was definitely not thinking about David Rose.

It was better this way, Patrick figured. Less complicated. 

He thought that maybe he’d go to one of the gay clubs near the Latin Quarter that he’d passed by once or twice, the ones that made his stomach feel funny for reasons he had never understood at the time. Maybe he’d see if what he felt when he saw David Rose could be replicated. 

But he was definitely not thinking about David Rose. 

Not even when David Rose was standing in front of him, panting and out of breath, hair tangled and eyes wild. Patrick tried to open his mouth to say something, but whatever words might have been there got lodged and stuck in his throat. Now he was just gaping at David as he panted, breathed, panted.

“Gentlemen, please take your seats. We’re just about to close the doors for departure,” a friendly flight attendant said in her best customer service voice. Whatever color David still possessed drained out of his face and his eyes went large and panicky. 

“You’re shutting the doors? Already?” David’s voice was just a tiny bit screechy. 

“All the other passengers have boarded, sir. We need to prepare the cabin for take off.”

“Fuck.” David sank into the seat next to Patrick. They were more like pods with individual entertainment systems and seats that could be fully reclined for sleeping. Patrick had never been able to sleep on airplanes before but he’d also never been able to recline his seat all the way back either. The two seats were angled toward each other and Patrick could easily reach across the armrest to touch David if he wanted to. 

God, he wanted to. 

He forced himself to keep his hands to himself. Maybe his hope was unfounded. Maybe David wasn’t here for the reasons Patrick wanted. 

“What are you doing here, David?” Patrick was surprised to find that his voice sounded calm and only a little bit curious. Like they were merely acquaintances who’d just happened to bump into each other and not two men who were in love with each other. But maybe that was just Patrick. 

“Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god,” David chanted under his breath. 

The flight attendant, sensing she’d need a firm hand when dealing with a passenger mid panic attack, took David’s leather satchel from his hands and neatly stored it in the overhead bin. She used gentle hands to push David flush into the seat and then reached across to buckle him in. 

The plane stuttered and then slowly started to move in reverse. The individual screens flickered to life and the pre-flight safety briefing began to play. 

“Oh god,” David repeated, as if he could think of nothing more original to say. 

The flight attendant gave David a grim look. “Sir, you’re going to be fine. And if not, we have lots of alcohol on board.” She patted David on the arm and then disappeared into her own pod somewhere else for take-off. 

A staticky voice came on overhead. “Good morning. This is your captain speaking. Welcome to Air France flight 5683 with non-stop service to Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, France. Our flight time today is six hours and 50 minutes. Fair skies, no major weather systems detected, so it should be an easy flight. Looks like we’ve been cleared for take-off. Please be sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all tray tables are in the upright and locked position.” 

As the flight attendant interpreted the captain’s message into French, David shut his eyes and looked like a man praying for absolution before facing the guillotine. Patrick thought about making a snarky comment like he would have done if they were still dating, but the engines underneath them rumbled with a new force and they started to accelerate down the runway. 

Patrick still had no idea what David was doing here—he hadn’t managed any words that weren’t “oh god” or “fuck” as of yet—but Patrick couldn’t let David go through this alone. There had been a brief but certain time when Patrick had thought his presence could soothe David’s fears. Now, he wondered if he would just make it worse. In the end, he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out and clasping onto David’s. He squeezed tight and David squeezed back. 

“Hey,” Patrick said with a tentative smile. “You can do this, David. I’m right here.” 

David opened his eyes to look at Patrick. He chewed on his lips in concentration and shook his head, still unable to speak. His grip tightened in Patrick’s hand as the plane barrelled down the runway and its wheels lifted into the air. 

Patrick counted his breaths and the beats of David’s heart pulsing under his palm. Once the plane was safely in the air and had reached a more horizontal cruising speed, David relaxed his death grip on Patrick’s hand. 

“Sorry about that,” David said. “I thought there’d be more time for a grand romantic speech before the complete meltdown started.” 

Patrick schooled his face into its most neutral position, trying to ignore the wild hope that once again started to leap inside him. “So there was a grand romantic speech, huh?” 

“Maybe. I hadn’t actually worked it all out yet,” David admitted sheepishly. “Your dad gave me a few talking points though.” 

“My dad?” Patrick repeated incredulously. 

“Yeah. He drove me to the airport. Never seen him break that many traffic laws.” David laughed nervously. 

Patrick shook his head. “My dad doesn’t break traffic laws.”

David smiled. “Well, he did today.”

“Why would he do that?” Patrick asked quietly.

David shrugged. His shoulders were graceful even in their discomfort. “I guess because he thought we needed a chance to stop being idiots.”

“Oh, so now I’m an idiot?” Patrick demanded, but there was no edge to his voice. Some might have even called it teasing. “Some grand romantic speech this is turning out to be.” 

“I didn’t even know I was going to get on this plane until two hours ago!” David exclaimed. “Alexis and Stevie bodily forced me to come. It’s been a very stressful morning.”

“So then why did you get on the plane?” Patrick asked. He tried not to smile. 

“I was an idiot,” David said penitently, his voice quiet and soft. “I made a mistake when I let you go. I shouldn’t have forced you to do the show, even though I think you’ll be amazing. I just...wanted to help you realize your dreams, but I didn’t listen when you told me what you wanted. I’m sorry. And I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Patrick sat quietly, thinking. He didn’t need a grand romantic speech from David. He never had. He just needed David. And maybe he was going to get to have him, after all. It felt quite suddenly like his body was not big enough to contain all of him. Patrick’s heart was throbbing like it wanted to beat right out of his chest and his ribs had tightened around his lungs to hold it all in. 

“I think I get why you did it,” Patrick said, after a while. “I mean, I don’t know how it got all twisted up in your mind the way it did, but I can see that your intentions came from a good place, at least.” 

David winced. “That’s fair.” 

“Are you going to do it again?” Patrick asked, “Or are you going to believe me when I tell you that I want you?”

David’s mouth went through a series of expressions before settling into a pleased smile. “The second one.” 

“Good answer,” Patrick said, smiling at David in return. “So what now?” 

David looked at Patrick and it made Patrick’s breath disappear from his lungs. “I want to be with you. In every possible way.” 

“Okay,” Patrick said easily though his heart was thundering in his ears. “Prove it.” 

“What do you mean? I got on a  _ plane _ for you, Patrick!”

“I know,” Patrick said gleefully. “Now give me your phone.”

“Excuse me?”

“No phones. Hand it over.”

“I’ll get it back, won’t I?”

Patrick accepted David’s reluctantly proffered phone and turned it off. He took out his own phone and did the same thing. He tucked both back into his own carry-on bag. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

Patrick settled back into his seat, crossed his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes with a satisfied smile. He could still feel David tense beside him. Patrick cracked one eye to look at him and reached for David’s hand again. 

“Hey,” he said with a nudge. “You got on a plane for me.”

“Yeah,” David replied, curling his hand possessively around Patrick’s. “I did.” 

Of course the plane hit a patch of turbulence right then and ruined the moment. “We’re going to die!” David screamed as he clawed at Patrick’s hand. 

“David,” Patrick said soothingly, rubbing his thumb against the back of David’s hand in reassuring circles. “Look at me. We’re going to be fine. I’m here.” 

“Okay,” David nodded his head and tried to breath normally. 

“Why don’t you think about all the things we have to look forward to in Paris,” Patrick suggested. “We can go shopping on the Champs-Élysées or eat at one of those bistros I told you about.”

“No accordions,” David said through the inhales and exhales as he matched Patrick’s breath. 

“No appreciation,” but Patrick said it fondly. “Or maybe you’d rather think about kissing me in front of the Pompidou or maybe kissing in front of Notre Dame.”

“I like kissing,” David said, eyes flicking down to the curve of Patrick’s lips. “I really like kissing you.”

Patrick laughed that rich and throaty laugh of his and kissed the back of David’s trembling knuckles. “I like kissing you too, David.” 

David smiled at Patrick, and the fear seemed to drop off his face all at once. He looked happy, free, young. He looked like Patrick’s wildest dream, in the flesh. 

“Or maybe,” Patrick continued, his voice low and flirtatious, “we should think about bottles of red wine and beds in hotel rooms and chocolate éclairs.” 

_ “Je veux un éclair au chocolat, s'il vous plaît,” _ David replied at once.

“You remembered!” Patrick smiled, delighted. 

“Mm,” David nodded. “I had a really good tutor.” 

“Is that right?”

“That’s right. I know another one,” David said. “You want to hear?” 

“Of course.” 

“ _ Mon copain est un homme magnifique _ .”

Patrick felt his face crack open into a huge grin. He thought he’d never been so happy. “My boyfriend is a very beautiful man, too.”

They smiled at each other. And neither one could look away, the absolute fools. 


	10. and life will always be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue in reverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exactly one year ago today, I posted my very [first fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832002/chapters/49520588). I never thought I'd ever write a fic and I certainly never thought that a year later, I'd have 150k of words under my belt. So today seemed like the perfect day to finish this story and to thank all the wonderful readers out there who have left kudos and comments and encouragement along the way. Writing is the best worst hobby out there and y'all make it worth it.

_ 2020 _

“Ordering. Table four. Two lamb, one mashed with garlic, one without, braised vegetables.” 

“Heard, Chef.”

The fire on the range flared as the line cook set a lamb chop into his pan. Patrick heard the tell-tale sound of another ticket coming through the machine and pulled it off. 

“Firing one filet mignon, medium rare.” 

“Heard, Chef,” called another voice from down the line. 

“Hey, Chef,” said a bright, happy voice from behind him. “Your husband’s here.” 

Patrick turned and flashed a smile to his  maître d’. “Thanks, Twyla.”  Patrick clicked his pen and put it into the breast pocket of his immaculate chef’s coat. 

“Eve,” Patrick called to his deputy chef. “Take over for me, please.”

“Sure thing, boss.” She stepped up and pulled another chit from the machine. His sous chefs had everything well in hand. They were a practiced, perfectly well-oiled machine by this point. 

Patrick squeezed past the wait staff coming to pick up plated entrees from the pass and walked out into the main restaurant with Twyla by his side. David, dressed in a soft gray sweater, was sitting at his regular table, the one Patrick had designed for David’s exclusive use. Patrick greeted David with a “hi, honey” and kissed him lightly on the lips before sliding into the seat across from him, just like he’d designed. 

“You know, my mom will probably never forgive you for poaching Twyla from her staff,” David said, watching Twyla return to her station at the front of the house. Her cheery presence, so different from the usual stoic respectability of most  maître d's, had proven to be a huge asset to the success of Patrick’s restaurant. 

“Your mom loves me,” Patrick said easily. “Besides, I get enough grief from my own mother about that.” 

David merely rolled his eyes with a laugh. It was a well worn debate, after all. “You’re doing the lamb tonight,” he said fondly, reaching out to stroke the back of Patrick's hand. 

“You love my lamb.”

David snorted. “I love all your food.” 

David had been right. The Interflix show had been a bona fide success and catapulted Patrick into a rarefied group of celebrity chefs. He hosted three seasons in Europe — with David by his side — before passing the torch to the next chef who took on Asia. When Patrick had decided the time was right to open his own restaurant, he’d had no trouble finding investors to add to his own sizable nest egg. La Vie en Rose opened in the East Village at the end of 2018. It was just a few blocks away from the brownstone David and Patrick had bought together when they married the year before that in a simple, elegant ceremony at Rosebud Manor. 

The restaurant was everything Patrick had envisioned all those years ago. It was located in a historic building with warm red bricks and a rustic interior. His dinner service focused on fresh, local ingredients and unaffected presentation. Eating there felt like a warm hug or so one of his critics has said, but that was as much Twyla’s doing as it was Patrick’s food. His eight-course tasting menu was a two hour experience that had been carefully crafted to remind people of what it meant to savor their food. Reservations were booked solid for months. He’d been nominated for a James Beard award and there were whispers of a Michelin star in his future already. 

Given the late hours required at the restaurant, David had adopted a similar schedule to Patrick’s. They spent their mornings together, lazy and languid in bed, eating breakfast together, walking the streets together hand-in-hand, visiting shops and boutiques and farmers markets before they each headed into work. David had scaled back his presence at Interflix, finally learning how to delegate and trust his colleagues to do their jobs. Stevie had been promoted to VP of operations and Alexis had proven invaluable on the communications team. She was now managing the marketing accounts for all of Interflix’s major programs and even David could admit she had a real knack for public relations. 

When David left work, normally around 8 o’clock at night, he’d head to La Vie en Rose and slip into the small table set aside for him. He and Patrick would eat their dinners together and talk for a little while before Patrick would be itching to get back into the kitchen and check on his staff. He may have been the executive chef, but Patrick was still very hands-on and would happily hop on the line to cook when the restaurant was busy. 

Stevie would often drop in to keep David company before the restaurant closed or sometimes it was Alexis, who had moved into David’s old apartment on 5th Avenue. Ted would accompany her whenever he was in town between filming his own show. They had been together as long as Patrick and David had been, and though they were completely smitten with each other, they seemed happy with the way things were. Alexis loved her work and never felt the craving to run into the nearest direction of danger. She went with Ted on some of his bigger trips to far off locales though. Their next planned excursion was to visit the penguins in Antarctica. 

Marcy and Clint were still the cook and chauffeur for their son’s in-laws but the relationship between the Brewers and Roses, already cordial and respectful, had grown even more warm and congenial. The Brewers had announced their plans to retire in the next year and Patrick had been helping Johnny and Moira to find his parents the perfect retirement gift: a small bungalow on Long Island where they could remain close to Rosebud Manor and their son. 

“What do you think of this artist?” David asked, sliding across a portfolio of prints to Patrick. 

They were beautiful, Patrick thought, though he didn’t have the same eye for art that David did. Patrick had surprised David by asking him to find artists and artwork to showcase at the restaurant. Now, they exhibited up and coming artists on the walls of La Vie en Rose, circulating them out as David found new artists who matched the restaurant’s and his aesthetic. They sold the art to restaurant patrons and the art had become just as much of a draw as the food. 

“They’re beautiful,” Patrick said. He flipped to a print near the back. It was really just a cacophony of shapes and colors, not real discernible images, but still, it looked like the moonlight over the Seine. “This one reminds me of Paris.” 

David smiled his widest smile, the one that showed teeth and dimples. It took awhile before Patrick had gotten to see David smile that way, but now he did it constantly, like his mouth couldn’t help itself. “You know, I thought the same thing. Maybe it’s time to go back. It’s been awhile since our last visit.”

Patrick leaned over to kiss David on his lips. “I always love Paris with you.” 

David caught Patrick by the back of his neck before he could completely pull away from him. “We should go back for our anniversary.” 

“Oh yeah?” Patrick asked and dropped a kiss onto David’s nose. “Which one?” 

***

_ 2017 _

It didn’t take long for David to discover that Patrick had been right: Paris was sweetest right after it rained. They’d come back to Paris for their second anniversary, but the date was still up for debate. Patrick insisted their anniversary was the same as David’s parents’ anniversary, the day Patrick had returned from Paris and David had kissed him for the first time in the solarium. 

“That was two kisses on your cheek,” David had argued so many times he’d lost count. “And we’re not sharing our anniversary with my parents. Besides, you thought you were on a date with my sister at the time.” 

“Good point. What about the first time I cooked for you? You kissed me on the lips that night.” They had just eaten dinner at a Moroccan restaurant and were walking hand-in-hand along the Seine on their way back to their hotel. The river was softly lapping against the ramparts and the sky was growing dusty, the last flicker of light still reflecting in the clouds before it became fully dark. 

“I did,” David admitted with a faint blush. “But it wasn’t premeditated. And you still thought it was more of a job interview than a date.” 

Patrick tugged David’s hand to pull him in for an indulgent kiss. “I only really thought that for the first half of the night. I think watching you eat my soufflé changed my mind about that.” 

“Do you get off on watching everyone eat your food?” David asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Patrick laughed. “No, no. Just you, David. Only you.”

David tried to hide his smile. “Well, that’s comforting.” 

Patrick glanced sideways at David. “What about the night I came out and confessed my feelings for you? That was the first time we spent the night together. Surely, that was the real beginning of our relationship.” 

“Yeah, but then we broke up because I thought I knew what you needed better than you did.” 

“In your defense, you did end up being right.” Patrick smirked. He didn’t like admitting it to David’s face, but it had been a good move, career-wise. David said acts of service was just his love language; Patrick called it arranging everyone else’s life. But they’d had a lot of discussions about when and how and why David should make decisions for other people and he’d been getting much better at it. David never made decisions for Patrick that he put into action without Patrick’s input and they were each other’s biggest supporters. “So maybe it’s the first time we flew here, to Paris, then. The first time you called me your boyfriend.” 

David paused and turned to look at Patrick. Notre Dame and its flying buttresses looked like a hulking stone spider in the distance. The street lamps were glistening in the river like glowing orbs. 

“I have a better solution," David said. "Let’s pick a new anniversary." He reached for Patrick’s other hand, the one he wasn’t already holding so tightly, and swung Patrick around so they were face-to-face. “Let's get married.” 

“What?” 

“I know we had an...unusual beginning to our relationship and that no one thought we’d last, least of all me. I know we don’t make sense, except that we do. You make me a better person. You make me a happy person.” David smiled softly and reached into his pocket for the ring he’d hidden there days ago. “You’re it for me, Patrick. So, marry me?” 

“Are you serious?” Patrick asked. He looked overwhelmed, but happy. 

David looked into Patrick’s eyes and it was like coming home. “Yes.”

“Then, yes.” Patrick stroked David’s cheek, his eyes wet with barely contained emotion. “God, David, I love you so much.” 

David gave a choking laugh and slipped the ring onto Patrick’s hand. They kissed under the glowing moon. 

“This is just one of those perfect moments you always dream of,” Patrick said, folding himself under David’s arms to hug him tightly. David had to agree. But then again, every moment was perfect, with Patrick. 

***

_ 2015 _

David was still a bit in shock when they stepped off the plane in Paris. He’d made it through the flight, driven by a relentless need to prove something to himself and because Patrick’s presence was a steadying force, solid and real and so desperately, unbelievably fond. He’d called Patrick his boyfriend. And Patrick had said it back. And then there had been no room for anxiety when his body was overflowing with joy. 

There was a car and a driver waiting for them at the airport—Stevie coming through for him once again—and Patrick had a low conversation with the man in French while David leaned his head against the window and watched the scenery rush past. It was already late in Paris, nearly midnight, but the city still felt alight with something indescribable. 

They pulled up to a lavish sand-colored classical building with soaring arches, Corinthian columns, and a slate-tiled roof. Patrick whistled up at the Hotel Ritz. Clearly, Stevie was not messing around if this is where she made them reservations. Patrick’s hand settled into David’s, warm and steady and there. He tugged David along to the front desk where he checked them in using his rapid-fire French. 

The room was on one of the top floors, lush and other-worldly, as if marking a time gone by. They didn’t say anything to each other as they took in the walls, delicately carved with an eggshell floral motif and the plaster reliefs etched in gold on the ceiling. A chandelier hung high above the bed and the furniture was all delicate French Empire pieces. The color scheme was white with accents of robin's egg blue. And across from the bed, a balcony with long sheer drapes flowing through the open French doors. David had known luxury all his life, but never quite like this. 

Patrick stepped out onto the balcony and called over his shoulder, “David, come out here. You’ve got to see this.” 

David followed the sound of Patrick’s voice and came face-to-face with the Eiffel Tower in the distance, all lit up in a soft yellow light. It was better and more impressive than David had ever imagined. Patrick wrapped an arm around David’s waist and pulled him close to his side as they stared at Paris stretching out before them. 

“I’m here,” David breathed out. “I’m actually in Paris.”

Patrick smiled at him. “You’re here.” 

David turned to look at Patrick and his smile softened. “We’re here,” he whispered. The way he said it made it sound like the  _ we _ was more important than the  _ here _ . 

“Yes, we are.” 

Patrick reached up to tangle his fingers in David’s hair, thumb stroking the soft plane of David’s cheek, as his eyes fell to David’s mouth. David’s hands slid across Patrick’s shoulders coming to cup the back of his neck as David slotted themselves together like interlocking puzzle pieces and lowered his mouth to Patrick’s. David felt himself ignite like one of Patrick’s pots of water coming to boil. 

When they pulled apart, David’s eyes flicked to the queen-sized bed piled high with pillows and Patrick’s eyes followed. “We should go to bed,” David said, “for the sleeping.” 

“Or…” Patrick said, a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. 

“Or,” David agreed. 

David picked up the one small bag Stevie had packed for him. He had no idea what was in it, but he knew for sure he was going to be buying himself a brand new wardrobe now that he was in the fashion capital of the world. Stevie apparently understood that because the only thing she had packed for him was a few pairs of clean underwear, a set of pajamas, his favorite Neil Barrett sweater and black jeans, the smallest bag of travel-size toiletry items, and a box of condoms and lube. 

“Stevie was apparently very optimistic when she packed my bag,” David said, holding up the condoms and lube. Patrick had the good sense to blush. 

“We don’t…” David stammered, suddenly feeling a little unsure of pushing things too far. “I’ll just put them back…”

“No, David,” Patrick said, looking him straight in the eye. “Keep them out.” 

They got ready for bed in quiet, hushed tones, neither of them wanting to speak too loudly to disrupt the feel of anticipation that seeped through the blue jacquard carpet or the gold-leaf cornices. The room was lit only by the electric glow of the city beyond their drapes. They climbed into bed and reached for one another, wordless but knowing, eager but careful. 

David kissed Patrick like he’d only just begun to dream he could, long and unhurried and lasting. He traced the path of Patrick’s jaw with his lips and his tongue, the line of his neck, the curve of his ear. They peeled layers of clothes from their bodies and kissed the moonlight from each other’s shoulders. Patrick chased after David’s most tender spots with wondrous reverence as they lost themselves to the rightness of this moment made pure by their aching need and affection for one another. 

Then David took them both in hand and stroked long and slow until Patrick was trembling from the exhilarant feel of David all around him. Patrick clutched at David’s neck and looked him deep in the eyes and never once looked away. 

It didn’t take long before Patrick cried out and then they were both spilling over into each other’s hands as they exchanged sighs against each other’s lips. And there, in the space between their breathless gasps, they could both see a month turning into two and two turning into three and then three turning into a year and on and on and on, until the years didn’t matter anymore, until the only measurement that existed anymore was a lifetime together just like this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So _technically_ the Ritz was closed for renovations in 2015, but I really couldn't find a better hotel in Paris for David and Patrick to stay at. (In addition to being absolutely gorgeous, it is also the hotel where Princess Diana ate her last meal before she was so tragically killed.) If you're curious, the first picture in [this article](https://www.townandcountrymag.com/leisure/travel-guide/g3200/ritz-paris-history/) is the room I imagined them in.


End file.
